


Pick a God and Find your Justice

by Wintercameandwent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lyanna Stark Lives, Magical Bond, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Oberyn Martell Lives, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Elia Martell, Prophetic Visions, Sorry Not Sorry, Suspense, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This is NOT for Rhaegar and Lyanna fans so tread carefully, This is show Lyanna Stark, Water Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 111,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintercameandwent/pseuds/Wintercameandwent
Summary: During the Usurper's War, Oberyn was believed to be in Essos with his sellsword company. He died wishing he had been in Westeros to save his sister and her children.What if fate gave him and his sister a second chance?The Orphans of the Greenblood believe themselves orphaned because the Mother is no longer with them, but what if the Mother Rhoyne could still hear the wishes of those who still had the blood of the Rhoynar beating in their veins.The Mother saved Nymeria and 10,000 ships worth of Rhoynar centuries ago. Discover how she will try and save their descendants as history sets to repeat itself.
Relationships: Doran Martell & Elia Martell & Oberyn Martell, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 700
Kudos: 419
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Come My Darling, Homeward Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838618) by [Becky_Blue_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Becky_Blue_Eyes). 



> I have absolutely NO BUSINESS starting another story. 
> 
> I work full-time and have graduate school courses starting in a week. 
> 
> Let us not forget that I have another WIP that I have only written two chapters for (and it been on hiatus for MONTHS).
> 
> I just can't get this idea out of my head so out it goes. This fic should only be a few chapters, but we all know how well that plan worked for my last Elia-centric fic. To move it along I don't plan to get into too many POV or even the nuances of what happens in the war. Each chapter will highlight certain decisions and we will see how that plays out in the greater story. 
> 
> This is not a pro-Targ fic at least not in the traditional sense. Martell Central here and I have no plans to apologize for it. I just hope readers will stay mature enough to either read the tags and move on if such stories aren't for them. 
> 
> I generally don't bash my characters, but I don't sugarcoat poor choices. If you hold to the strong belief that R+L was a destined love match and everything that happened was tragic but not as tragic as R+L not having their HEA then this is DEFINITELY NOT THE FIC FOR YOU!
> 
> The elements of water magic were inspired by BBE's story Come My Darling, Homeward Bound which is one of my absolute favorites fics. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Elia Martell Targaryen's long braid laid over her right shoulder, covering one exposed breast as she sat up in bed to nurse her newborn son. A son. She had a son and heir. While it almost killed her to do so, Elia gave her husband, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, his legacy—a boy child to carry on the Targaryen name.

Outside of Dorne, she knows a woman's value is tied to giving her husband an heir. It is expected of women in this world. However, as she sits there in her bed holding her son, Elia can only think that the child she grew inside of her made his personality known to her before all others were finally here. A solidly formed babe with a wisp of white-blond hair like his father and eyes that swirled with hues of blues and purples. After birthing Rhaenys and looking so Dornish, Elia was surprised at how this child took after his father. She was expecting another child to look like Rhaenys. However, it seems the gods have decided to grace her and her husband with a child that looked like them.

As her son attempted to suckle the milk she had produced, Elia takes her free hand and gently touches his nose and cheeks with her fingertip. Perhaps it is a blessing that this child looks Targaryen. She can only hope that this babe would decrease the barrage of criticism from her good-father, the king. Elia can only pray so.

Two babes in nearly three years, and she had survived. Barely, but she had. The last thing she had expected to hear was the maester's determination that she could not birth another child. Her mind goes back to his words.

"This cannot be."

Elia knew how much Rhaegar wanted a third child. She had listened to his stories about the prophecy he discovered. Upon hearing the news and Rhaegar's murmur, she thought that perhaps he was wrong in his decipher. Maybe it was Viserys or maybe even the boy prince she held in her arms. What she hadn't expected to hear was...

"There must be a third."

If she closes her eyes, Elia could see her husband's sad face, sad eyes, sad smile. This birth nearly killed her, and he was saddened because she could not try for a third. Did she mean nothing to him? Did their companionship count for nothing? Were the words of warmth and comfort that were spoken away from his father's eyes genuine and sincere? She thought they were, but now she wonders if she thought there more to their marriage while her husband felt differently.

As Elia contemplates her husband's behavior, she must acknowledge though it pains her to do so that he had changed after Harrenhal. Rhaegar was never the same after he crowned Lady Lyanna Stark, the Queen of Love and Beauty. Maybe now he will be like most men in the realm and take a lover in Lady Lyanna as she seemed drawn to his voice and songs. Well, she seemed moved at the tourney. While she never thought he capable of it before, it does not mean he wouldn't be now.

Elia tries to push aside the ache in her heart. The crack of Harrenhal quietly splintering until she fears that it would not take much to shatter her. What Elia will become after she does not know. If his vow to her and his care of her as his wife and the mother of his children means naught to him, what can she do? If he takes a lover, he takes a lover. All she prays is he does not rub it in her face, and most importantly, he does not bring a bastard into the world. We have seen enough Blackfyre's to last the realm and eternity.

A knock at her door pulls Elia out of the bleak darkness of her thoughts. She raises her head and watches as her husband walks quietly, yet hesitantly into her room.

"El, how do you fair my dear?"

_Dear. He used to call me love, but that too changed a moon or so after Harrenhal. Until he moves to dishonor our vows, I will hold fast to who I am—who I always have been with him._

"I am tired, my love, but I am always happy to see you near." Elia makes an effort to say these words though she doubts they mean something to her husband. They once had, she thought.

Rhaegar forces a smile. She can see it. All these years together under the pressure of Kings Landing and she knows his tells. Something is not right. When it comes to him, her intuition is screaming, but she can't yet make sense of the warning. Elia watches as he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. He leans over and places one hand on the bed over her legs as his other hand reaches out to cup her face. She can feel his calloused thumb, a permanent gift from his years of playing the harp, as he gently rubs it against her cheek. His eyes are so beautiful, hauntingly so, and they pin her still. Is this the moment that will shatter her?

"You are a beautiful woman Elia Martell?"

Not expecting these words from her husband and not feeling particularly beautiful, she hiked up a brow in doubt. A deep chuckle pushed past his lips.

"I know you might not feel it true, but this moment aside, you are beautiful in form and heart. I wish you could see yourself the way I do. While we may not have been a love match, I have never regretted our union. Do not think I am deaf to some of the unkind words spoken just barely out of your ear. No matter what, please know that I think your beauty and I am grateful that you were my wife and the mother of my children."

Elia felt a flood of emotions. Damn the blasted fickleness of emotions after childbirth. Looking back at their marriage, they had moments like this. Quiet, intimate, filled with genuine care and affection. Could this birth be the resurrection of her marriage? She didn't know and felt unsure.

"Rhaegar, I do not know what to say."

"There is nothing for you to say. Just find comfort in my words. I fear I do have some news unfortunate news. I probably should have told you sooner, but matters were uncertain about your health after Aegon's birth. I thought it better to wait, and now that you have been healing and getting better, the time has come for me to speak on what I must do."

Elia froze. Her mind raced with matters that could require his attention, but he feared to tell her until she had improved health.

"El, I do have some matters to attend to in the Riverlands. My father is unable to attend the wedding of Lord Stark's heir to Lord Tully's daughter. It is an insult not to have the crown represented at the wedding of two great houses. While my father may not care about insulting the Lords, I cannot in good conscious not attend as I will become king after him."

The Riverlands. The Stark-Tully wedding. Lyanna Stark and her husband in the same space. While she knows the girl is only but five and ten, young with a young woman's heart no matter how Northern she maybe, she could easily fall for Elia's husband if he opened the door. Well, hadn't he already?

Clearing her head, Elia forced herself to ask the question she knew she didn't want but needed answering. She was the daughter of Lorenza Martell, the Princess of Dorne, with such a mother Elia knew the value of information.

_"Better to know sad news my dearest sunray so that you can plan for the best possible outcome than to have it revealed in the aftermath of the chaos. You miss things and become sloppy, resulting in consequences you cannot stop. What then? Was the delayed protection of your feelings worth the true protection of your life or your house? I think not."_

Reaching over with her free hand, Elia held her husband's wrist, and his palm rested on the bed beside her blanketed legs. Leaning in, she asked him three questions.

"A part of me can't help but wonder after Harrenhal that you going to this wedding is just an excuse to see Lyanna Stark. Am I right? Are you going to this wedding to see her knowing that the realm with speak of it? Is it your intent to once again shame me before the kingdom?

Rhaegar's hand moved from her face to find purchase in her hair, and he pulled her forward—resting his head against hers.

"My intent is true. As the Crown Prince, what I do is for the best of the realm."

"You haven't answered my questions, Rhaegar." Her dark brown eyes peered up into his indigo orbs.

"I am not going to see Lyanna. I will not bring you any more shame, Elia."

Elia eyes tracked her husband's cool expression. His eyes traveled over her face, where his gaze settle on her full lips. Tilting his head, he pressed his warm, dry lips against hers. He pulled his other hand out of her grip, held her head in both his hands and devoured her in a kiss. A sweet kiss that spoke of goodbye.

"I will return. Trust me, Elia. No matter what trust in me."

Elia nodded for she had no words to say what she felt at that moment. Rhaegar looked down at their son and gently placed a kiss on the crown of his head. At that moment, her son decided to make his presence known as he let out a disgruntled cry.

Perhaps her son could sense his father's mummer's farce. Elia put her best face forward and gave her lying husband her best serene smile. She had learned well how to navigate the swamp that was Kings Landing nobility. Using such skill on her husband for the first time in their marriage, Elia felt the shatter as it vibrated down to her bones.

Yes, a liar he is. It was not his words that gave him away, but rather the rapid beating of his blood in his wrist that contradicted his real intent. Elia is reminded of her brother Oberyn's words on a hot day in the water gardens.

_"Everyone has a tell when they lie, Ellie. The question is, are you clever enough to find it."_

It was then that her brother taught her how to determine if a person was lying by finding that beat. He told her she first needed to ask questions that she knew the answer too so that she could learn a person's inner rhythm. When a person is honest, their rhythm always beats true, but when they are evading or outright lying, the beat changes.

Rhaegar's beat felt less like the butterfly flutter she was used to and more like a pounding of drums with irregular syncopation moments. This was a beat she had heard before when her husband told his father that he had not planned to overthrow him by a Great Council vote. She knew that to be untrue as that was why there was a tourney at Harrenhal, to begin with.

The next day Elia saw her husband off. He held and kissed their daughter, having said goodbye to their son in the nursery. Rhaenys wept for she did not understand why her Kepa was leaving her behind. Elia wished she had an acceptable answer for her oldest child. Sadly, she feared Rhaenys would never understand her father's choice, but like her mother, she too would have to navigate this world of men. It made Elia hurt for her daughter that her first lesson with the cruelty of men would come at the hands of her father.

Rhaegar pulled Elia into an embrace. She had little desire to reciprocate, but she couldn't be seen as unfeeling or apathetic though that is what she felt for this man. He kissed her. Ran his fingers through her hair, tugging her closer as he laid one final kiss on her forehead.

"Be well. I will see you soon, my dear, and until then, remember the words I spoke yesterday. You were the best of wives to me, and no one could ever take that away from you--from us. That is what we have. Let no man put asunder, El."

Elia closed her eyes and let him think her overcome with love when all she felt was anger and hurt. Opening her eyes, she watched as her husband pulled away with another melancholic smile. As his Kingsguard of Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent followed behind, Elia called out.

"Rhaegar! Remember your oaths and vows, my Prince. As the best man among all in the realm, I trust you will do the right thing because the gods—old and new, detest an oath breaker. I know you would never do anything to jeopardize that."

Her husband gave her an awkward smile and nod before turning back towards the boat.

Elia sent Arthur a pointed look, and when her first love looked away with a broken expression, she knew that Arthur knew what this trip really was, and he hadn't warned her. Loyalty be damned. He was not loyal to her as a fellow Dornishman and not faithful as a member of the royal family. Too low on the hierarchy to warrant a clue from someone she was so close to. Seems as if incurring Rhaegar's friendship and loyalty was more important than the established relationship she thought they had.

Once her husband was on the ship, Elia turned back to Dragonstone and began to pray that the Gods would give her a sign of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post chapter 2 today, but after this, I will try to post once a week on Monday or Tuesday.
> 
>   
> **Princess Elia Nymeros-Martell**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Oberyn Nymeros Martell finally made it. The Rhoyne River was before him. He was so sure that not since Nymeria and her 10,000 ships fled the Valyrian wars have any descendent from that journey ever returned. His mind wanders, and he thinks about the Greenblood and the Orphans who still live as real to the Rhoynar as possible, and what he has learned from them about this part of his heritage over the years.

It was a well-kept secret among the Martells that they learned to speak the language of the Rhoynar, and they lived among the Orphans for a time. Each was just as skilled in the Rhoynish language as they were in Westerosi and High Valyrian. They were as familiar with the Gods of the Seven as they were with the Mother Rhoyne, the Old Man of the River, and his nemesis the Crab King.

As his ship entered the channel into the river, Oberyn thought about the water magic the Orphans believe so keenly. He finds it hard to put much faith in gods, not when he has seen so much corruption and politics that masquerade as piety and faith. A lie he swears.

However, there is something about the gods of the Rhoynar that make him think of the gods of the First Men, where rules for living a civil life are understood, and all are expected to be accountable for their own faith. No septs, no septons, no septas. The policing of religion at the hands of those who can't be held responsible by outside means is the height of hypocrisy.

This does not mean that he does not believe in higher sources. A man could be a student of the world and science and still have faith. Oberyn admits he is still searching for what his faith looks like. Is what he's looking for lie in water-magic of the Rhoyne.

As the ship begins to sail up the river entering the delta from Volantis, Oberyn wishes his siblings could see this. He could see Doran eyeing the ruins before him while lamenting the destruction of the city. Elia would run her fingers through the water and smile as the sun would touch her face as she asked him if he felt that missing piece that always seemed to lie underneath all Dornishmen that had the blood of the Rhoynar flowing through their veins.

Still thinking of his sister, Oberyn thought of the last letter he received from her when he was in Lys. She was with child and hoped that he would return soon to meet his future niece or nephew. This letter was three moons old. As Oberyn began to do mental mathematics, he realizes that his sister should have delivered the child, or the time would be close. A smile and a small prayer left, he thought, carrying his hope that Elia and the babe would be alright.

Remember her ordeal with Rhaenys worried Oberyn much. It was not wise to have babes born so closely together, he thought. The process of carrying a child and birthing it was no easy feat. He never understood maesters at the Citidel that always subscribed to the philosophy that a few tonics would square a woman straight away to birth another child immediately after having a babe. Fools, but then they serve at the pleasure of their lords, do they not.

Oberyn's eyes rest on the riverbanks. His eyes searching for danger and for knowledge. There are a few Rhoynar still alive and living along the river. He wants to see them. Meet them and perhaps learn a bit more about these people of who he is descended from. The Dornish come from hardy stock, and it is that grit that had helped them persevere when others perished, like most of the Valyrians of Old Valyria.

There in the distance is an old woman pulling up a net filled with fish. Oberyn can't help but laugh as he witnessed the bounty of her catch. His ship catches her attention, and she looks up from her filling her basket with her prize. Their eyes meet over distance, but to Oberyn, it feels as if he is standing right in front of her. He can't explain it, but he feels compelled to go to her. He called out to his men and set out on a small rowing boat with a few of his companions as his ship anchors.

The woman remains where she is until he steps out of the boat and into the surf as he walked onto land. She greets him in the words of the Rhoynar, and for the first time outside of Dorne, Oberyn spoke his true mother tongue. She invites him and his men to her camp for a feast as tonight it is believed that a message from the Mother Rhoyne will come to someone worthy.

As the sky begins to darken, the campfires illuminate the night as lively music, delicious fish, and obscenely divine wine was shared. Oberyn could tell that his men were enjoying this moment. A rarity among the Dornish to be with true Rhoynar. The old lady manages her camp well, and as the night carries on, she sits beside him with a decanter of wine.

"It's a bit too loud for us to have a proper conversation. There is a look about you that pulls me. I think I have figured out what it is." The old woman speaks in her Rhoynish tongue.

"Is that so." Oberyn mused.

"Yes. I see darkness following you. It is a darkness that doesn't dwell within you—at least not yet. It follows you, though. Waiting. The darkness is not your own, but rather the consequence or guilt that is nearby. I do not think it is too late."

Spoken riddles such as these never brought Oberyn much satisfaction. Now he wonders if he has stumbled his way to a group of people who are fanatics about the Mother Rhoyne. He can't be too surprised as he was warned in Volantis.

"Too late for what." He decides to play along from a bit. His dark eyes gleaming with mirth and a dash of derision.

"Hmmm. I can see you doubt my words. I see a path. Someone dear to you will perish by no fault of their own. A woman. Two children. She will be violated before her heart is pierced with a sword. Death will come for her. The boy will have his body crushed beyond recognition. The girl stabbed with a dagger to many times to count. Death will come for them. The boy will be found with his mother while the girl will be discovered hiding under her father's bed. Their sire—gone."

Oberyn felt his blood drain. He and his men claimed that they worked for a wealthy merchant in Dorne while he managed the unruly lot on the ship. The truth was far different. He had started a sell-sword company, and most of his men were enjoying their leave in Volantis while a few curious men followed him up the river Rhoyne. This old woman couldn't know about him or his family. The woman she described sounded like Elia.

"Upon her death, the darkness will find its way in, and you will spend your life trying to avenge her. It will all be in vain as you will die at the hands of the one who killed her. It will lead to the death of your house. Your brother, his children, your children—gone."

His mouth felt dry, and he could not find the words he needed to speak. Taking in large deep breaths, Oberyn managed a reply.

"How do you know this?"

"I have always had the sight. It comes, and it goes as the mother pleases. It seems it has returned for you. Come. Lay your hand in the water and ask the mother to show you what darkness awaits your future." 

Unsure for the first time that he can ever remember, Oberyn does as she suggested. He remembers the Orphans' words and closes his eyes as he rests his hands in the river. His mind reaching out to the Goddess of the water.

_"Dearest Mother Rhoyne, I am not a humble man, nor do I think I am a very good one—at least not by the standards of my brethren in Westeros. I try to be a good father, a good brother to my siblings, and a good uncle to my nieces and nephews. I have always tried to be a good son and a worthy nephew. I do not conform to the world as is expected of me. I do try not to harm others if I can avoid it, but I do not fear conflict in any form except for this moment. This woman has given me grave news, and I fear the truth of it. If what she says is true, then show me and grant me the grace to try and save my sister and her children."_

The coolness of the water on his fingertips began to rise until his hand was submerged. Oberyn's eyes remained closed as the water rose up against his legs and to his waist. The water continued to rise up his arms and chest until he was pulled by an unseen force into the river. Oberyn knew better than to open his eyes, but to resist was so hard when he found he could not surface. His hand kept hitting a barrier. Panic began to set in as his lungs burned with the need for fresh air.

Just as he was about to open his eyes, he heard a voice calling to him. 

"Oberyn, just breathe, and all you wish to seek will reveal itself."

Breathe! To do so would mean death. He could feel his body rebelling as it fought his control to hold this breath. But wasn't this moment surreal? He can't break through for air, and he can sense he is not alone. His body will only hold out for so long. This will power fled, and with it came a tremendous deep gasp for breath. This body was filled with water, but he was not drowning.

He had little time to comprehend why he wasn't drowning. As soon as he released his restraint, he was flooded with images of Elia alone on Dragonstone, followed by Aerys demanding she returns to Kings Landing. Oberyn could see a war had begun.

The reasons for the war became apparent as he saw Rhaegar and the Stark girl running away to the Isle of Face and then to Dorne. He saw King Aerys burn Lord Stark alive, and his heir strangled himself in his efforts to save his father. The king calling for the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon as Jon Arryn raised his banners.

Aerys held Elia's and the children hostage so that Doran would send a strong army to the front lines. So many Dornishmen died—10,000 it seemed. He wondered if each one came from an ancestor on each of the 10,000 ships that sailed away with Nymeria. 

He saw the Tyrells safe in the Stormlands as Stannis Baratheon held Storms End for his brother and liege lord as Tywin Lannister made a deal with Baratheon to sack Kings Landing and deliver the capital in exchange for his daughter to be queen.

Then he saw what happened to the King as Jaime Lannister stuck a blade into his chest. The Mountain and Amory Lorch did the bidding of their Lord, and the words of the old woman struck true. Elia. Ellie. My dearest sister. Oh, Mother, please help me save my sister!

Oberyn didn't need to see more. He knew he would avenge Elia and her babes, and therein would be the beginning of the end for House Nymeros-Martell.

Tears push forth as Oberyn began to rise to the surface, and just as he was about to break free, he felt her. He felt her like he used to when he was a small child. Using terror laced with hope, Oberyn thrust the images he just witnessed through this link to his sister and whispered as a prayer—"Run Elia. Save yourself. Take the children and run."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just playing with my imagination using someone else's toys.

Elia jolted awake a piercing burn in her chest forced her to cry out. She felt her brother Oberyn. A montage of images rushed through her head of her husband and the Stark girl and ending with the death of her and their children. She heard Oberyn’s voice at the end of it all begging her to—run.

Seated in her tub, she must have fallen asleep and had a bad dream. As Elia tried to calm her mind, she found that she could not stop herself from trembling. The tears just pour out of her. She cannot explain what happened, but at her core, she knows this wasn’t just an ordinary dream. Rising on shaking legs, Elia stepped out of the cooling bath and quickly put on her robe.

Opening the door to her chambers, Elia looked to find Ser Barristan Selmy stationed.

“Princess. Is everything alright?” Ever calm, the man makes no particular note of her harried appearance but points it out all the same.

Clearing her throat, Elia attempts to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“Yes, Ser. I just realized I needed to speak with my Uncle Lewyn. Would you please send for him, Ser?”

“Of course, your Grace.”

Elia nodded her thanks and stepped back into her room. She sat before the hearth as she tried to make sense of what just happened. The knock on the door made her dash for the knob as she yanked it open.

“Uncle.” She called out breathlessly.

Knowing she looked a fright for she already felt it, her uncle’s expression morphed from warmth to uncertainty. Entering the room, Elia locked the chamber door before pulling her uncle away and into her bath chamber.

“Elia! What is wrong?” Her uncle spoke in the old tongue of the Rhoynish.

“I had fallen asleep in the bath, and I dreamt of Oberyn.” Replying back in their shared language, Elia began to pace the room while her uncle followed her movement with his eyes. Turning to him, she gripped his hands.

“But it wasn’t a dream. It felt more like a warning. I could hear Oberyn speaking to me.” Elia bit her lip nervously as she frantically looked at her uncle.

“What did he say, sunray?” Ser Lewyn raised her hands to his chest.

Rising on her toes, Elia whispers, “He told me to run. To save myself and the children.”

Pulling his head back a small distance away, her uncle looked into her eyes.

“What did you see, Elia?”

It was with a deep sigh and a heavy heart that Elia revealed to her uncle all she had seen. Feeling that full disclosure was paramount, she told him about her suspicions regarding Rhaegar and his true intent to go to the Stark-Tully wedding.

Perching himself on the edge of the tub, Lewyn Nymeros-Martell stared at his niece, and Elia knew in her head what her heart was telling her from the moment she awoke. This was not an ordinary dream.

“At every turn in history, there is always a tale where one sees more than they should all through means we cannot explain. The followers of the First Men believe in greenseers. The Targaryens survived because of Daenys Targaryen and her dream. There are even fewer who knew of Nymeria’s vision that prompted her to flee when she had. Perhaps you are having a revelation too. Never forget how we were never conquered by the Targaryen and why that was.”

Listening to the familiar Dornish voice, Elia knew her uncle spoke the truth. The secret to her family’s success was known only to other Martells. The Mother had never truly forsaken Nymeria nor her descendants, and over the centuries, many Nymeros-Martells have received a warning from a higher source.

“By all accounts, we might have less than 2 moons before the King demands your presence. Write to Doran. I will make sure it gets to him.”

Elia nods. “Will you leave me to deliver it?”

“No. There will be no need for we have someone I trust above all others to get it to Doran.”

“And she could succeed in delivering it for no one would dare suspect a septa.”

“Correct. Now you, my dear, need to center yourself. I know this must seem a fright, but my Brothers are observant, and even this castle has ears loyal to the Red Keep.”

Finding truth in his words, Elia knows that this is not the moment to mourn and weep. Perhaps moments will surface when she can allow herself that luxury, but now she has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel just as many women have before her and many who will follow after. Nodding at her uncle, Elia finds herself in the warmth of his embrace and wonders if she can save him as well.

*****

Oberyn finally took a deep breath of air and found that he was standing as he was before with his fingertips just touching the water. He turned to see the old woman sitting on the bank of the river.

“Did you find what you seek?” The Rhoynish words floated on the wind.

“Yes. It seems I have.” Not truly understanding what just occurred, Oberyn does not seek to look a gift horse in the mouth. He walks up to the woman.

“You best to take this.” The old woman fills up a large decanter with water from the river. Sealing it close to passes the vessel into his hands. Her weathered hand patted the side of his face gently.

“In their haste to go, it was the one thing they forgot to bring.

“Thank you.” His voice deep, but still shaken. Unsure of what a container of river water was meant.

The woman must have sensed his confusion, for she answered, “You will know what to do with this when the time comes.”

“I wish you good fortune, Brother.”

“Brother?” His confusion was evident in his tone.

“Aren’t we all children of the Mother Rhoyne?”

With a nod of agreement, Oberyn smiled at the woman as he walked back towards the camp.

Calling out to his men, he told them to be ready to depart at dawn to return to Volantis. There he would gather his mercenaries for they were needed in Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Prince Lewyn Nymeros Martell**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of RL business to attend to this week, so I am posting one day earlier. Enjoy
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am just having fun using them with my imagination. Enjoy!

As soon the sun began to rise over the Rhoyne River, Oberyn and his men were on their small boats rowing towards their larger ship settled not too far from the shore. Aside from informing his men that they had to head back to Volantis to leave for Westeros, he had found a quiet place and had not said much for he was confused and haunted by what had transpired between him and the river. 

Familiar with being the source of all attention, Oberyn had withdrawn to a place where fear and hope wrestled, and every potential outcome he created in his mind had the appearance to undo him. His behavior has caused his men to speculate, but two men knew him better than any others.

Sensing their eyes on him, Oberyn knew he had to tell his cousins what happened. Raised as near brothers when two of them squired for Lord Gargalen while one was the Lord's own son. Never had they held secrets from each other, and Oberyn wouldn't start the trend. If anything, he needed these men if they had any chance of getting home fast enough to save Elia and the children.

Climbing onto the boat, Oberyn could hear his crew hollering out commands, small boats being lifted and secured, men readying the ship to sail.

"Oberyn." He heard the quiet voice call from behind him. It makes the Dornish prince paused in mid-step.

"What demon claws at you, Brother?" Another voice called from the same direction.

Closing his eyes, Oberyn took a deep breath before turning his head to the side.

"We have much to discuss—in private."

Continuing to walk to his personal cabin, he didn't have to wonder if he had been heard. Making his way to the small porthole window in the room, the image of the river water rippling stood in stark contrast to the lush green land that seemed so still. For a moment, Oberyn wondered if he would ever return to this place, and if he did return, would his sister and their children be with them. The snick of the lock engaging was the only clue Oberyn's men were in the room with him and that they had the privacy needed for the talk that was too come.

"Speak." A deep, rasped voice demanded. Very few ever spoke to Oberyn this way. His parents—Mother rest their souls, his father's older brother Lord Tremond Gargalen, and the said Lord's son.

Turning around, Oberyn was faced with two people he knew his whole life. First, like small little boys in the water garden, he learned what their connection meant as family, and now they forged their bond through a brotherhood of their choosing. As much as he loved his older brother Doran, standing before Oberyn were his brothers of choice.

Settled and looking ready to face Oberyn's assumed demon with him stood Manfrey Martell and Leonidas Gargalen.

Without preamble, Oberyn revealed his plight. "Elia and the children are in danger."

"What? How do you know? Did you receive a message?"

The tall man with short hair demanded. Leonidas Gargalen thrived on gathering information, especially the most challenging kind to secure. He used intelligence and weaponized it. A tactician of words he was, and over the years, Oberyn has witnessed disagreements dissolve with Leo's well-placed speech or devolve into chaos. His cousin was a dangerous man, but many thought him to be nothing more than a Lord's indulged heir and Oberyn's companion. A tragic mistake on their part.

"Not possible, Leo. There is nothing here, and very few knew where we were. Does this have something to do with that water-witch?"

Manfrey's dark glinting eyes saw more than people assumed. Throwing all off by seeming to be lazed and bored with the expectations of his station. He was still a Martell and a deadly viper in his own right. Sadly, those who learned this side of him learned much too late.

Oberyn carried the vessel the river woman gave him on his back. He proceeded to pull the strap over his head and held the container in his hand. Perhaps Manfrey is correct in his assumption. Maybe she was a water-witch. Extending his other hand in a gesture to get his cousins to take a seat, Oberyn placed the vessel on the table as he secured three cups and a tankard of Dornish red.

As he filled the cups up to the brim, a novice mistake, he ignored the shared looks between his cousins. Oberyn drank the entire contents before he began to tell his cousin what had occurred the previous evening. It had not taken long for the men to empty their own cups before they refilled them several times over before he ended the tale.

"You do not question the truth of it, Ryn? We know Ellie and Rhaegar are not a love match, but she has grown to care for him, and it looks like he cares for her. However, to leave her for another woman—that just seems so out of character, even for Rhaegar." Manfrey sipped on his wine, his eyes never shift away from the fire Oberyn knows are burning in his dark orbs.

"A year ago, I would have said he wouldn't have shamed Ellie as he did when he willingly crowned the Stark girl, the Queen of Love and Beauty. What's another crown? Maybe I would feel more dubious if the female in question were a different woman, but alas, it is not. If you are right, then he is drawn to her, and he will always find his way to her." Leonidas sat back, the crack of his spine as he arched, not breaking the stride in conversation.

"I had hoped better for Elia. Mistresses are not uncommon. Not even in our own families. Now there is keeping a mistress, even if I think it poor choice that Rhaegar decided to choose his cousin's wife, but what Ryn speaks of his taking another bride. A second wife. The realm will not stand for it. You know better than most as the heir of a Lord the importance of marriage alliances. If the Crown Prince disregards his own alliance, the Lords will rebel. It rocks the foundation of what keeps civility among us. He cannot be that daft."

"You'll get no argument from me on the stupidity of it, Manny. I am less concerned with the implication of marriage alliances and more worried about the consequences of Ellie as Ryn saw it. Do you think Elia saw the vision?" Leo craned his neck to catch Oberyn's eyes.

"I am unsure, but the connection felt so real just as it was when we were children. In the past, she had received every thought I sent her, and I got all hers that she sent to me. It felt real. I do not know if I am working off of hope rather than truth." Oberyn quaked a sigh as he began to pace the small quarters.

"We love Elia like a sister, Ryn. We are with you. If you think she is in danger, then there is only one thing for us to do." Manfrey stood before Oberyn, gripping his shoulder tightly.

"He's right. We go home working with the belief that she is aware and making plans to escape. Now we plan for the best and the worst, my friend." Leonidas stood beside his family.

Manfrey turned to the water on the table. "You said the old woman told you that you would know what to do with the water. Given that it gave you a vision, what else do you think it could do? Your conversation makes me wonder if anyone with the blood of the Rhoynar would be affected."

Oberyn felt a degree of calming comfort surrounding him. He knew his cousins would understand and that this would not be a fight he would have to manage on his own for their individual love of Elia is rooted deeply in themselves. He ponders his cousin's question. Thinking there was only one way to find out.

He collected two clean bowls from a sideboard table. Pouring a small amount in each container, he gestured with his head that his cousins should sit.

"Let's see if your idea has merit. Touch the water as we learned when we spent the summers with the Orphans. While I was in the river, I had only touched a small amount. If it is mystical, I don't think the amount of water matters. Just remember to breathe."

Oberyn stepped back from the table as his cousins place their fingers in the water. Eyes closed his cousins' bodies began to tremble and jerk. The water still remained in the bowl, but watching the men before him, Oberyn knew they were deep underwater—their bodies thrashing the most significant clue they were submerged. Just as quickly as they were flaying, they went into a state of stillness.

Running the short distance to the table, he looked carefully to see if they still lived, and much to his relief, they were still breathing. As he had no idea how long he remained in his own trance, Oberyn sat quietly as the magic of the Mother claimed his cousins and shared her secrets.

Less than an hour had passed when Oberyn saw his cousins come out of their spell.

Manfrey rose so quickly from his seat, knocking the chair over, looking at it as though it were a banded krait—a snake known for paralyzing its prey before it consumed it. His breath heaving in and out of his body a chaotic nature at cross purpose to his cousin's natural state.

Leonidas ran his fingers through his short hair making it splinter into different direction. His eyes were abnormally wide. The man remained still as the shock held him.

"What did you see?" While fearful to ask, Oberyn pushed past his own unease to inquire about their experience.

"I saw Elia die, as you said. I saw Rhaegar, the Stark girl. I saw the war. I went with the 10,000 Dornish swords. I was to help lead them, but the King would not accept this and sent your Uncle Lewyn to lead the Dornish army. I saw myself die at the Trident shortly after your Uncle Lewyn did." Leo murmured, his voice dazed.

"My father fought with the 10,000, and I was made the temporary castellan in his stead by Doran. My father died at the Trident. Robert Baratheon becomes King. The Lannisters rose to power. They would not give us justice and hold the Mountain or Lorch responsible for Elia's death and her children. But then why would they when the Lannister Lord covered their dead bodies for the new King to walk over on his way to the throne. Years later, you died at his hands Oberyn because you championed the Lannister imp." Manfrey spat. Anger laced in every word.

"What? You did not share that, Brother?" Leo roared.

"It matters little if we can prevent it." Oberyn challenged. "It hurt Oberyn more than they knew that his children, more so than his woman who he had not met yet, had killed their kin. His mind thought of Obara and how he felt she adorably cross that he had left her in her Uncle Doran's care, and how Little Nym asked him to pass on a letter she wrote to her Mother where she shared her newfound love of dagger design. His Tyene probably has little thought of him as her cousin Arianne keeps her much entertained—a dangerous pair those two. Then there was his babe Sarella he imagines she must be walking on her own as she had insisted on climbing up objects and holding tightly to them as she kept herself upright on unsteady legs.

"It does matter you prat because your woman and children will try to avenge you, and in doing so, they will kill Doran and his children. Martells--legitimate or not, will turn on each other. A larger war will come. Dragons will come. Targaryens will return and die out just as quickly. In the end, I am what is left of House Martell. I become Prince of Dorne in a world that is uncertain and where instability reigns supreme."

Manfrey, frustrated with Oberyn but frightened at the same time, ended his thoughts, bringing the exact reason for his anger. "That is not my wish, Cousin. Never could I imagine such an end for our family."

Leonidas nods in agreement and thinks aloud. "The way I see it, there are three things we need to do. First, we have to get Elia, then we prepare Doran so that he can prepare Dorne for war is undeniable, and last we get to the rebels and sway them by giving them what they want."

"The girl, the prince, and the king." Oberyn deduced.

"Exactly." Leo concurred as Manfrey nodded in support.

Rubbing his heavily stubbled chin, Oberyn considers Leo's idea. "Well, we do have six ships worth of mercenary strength. After passing Lys, we separate and lead to our strengths. Manfrey, you continue West to warn Doran, Leo you and I head North* where I will find Elia, and you will find the rebel commanders.

"Fair enough." Tilting his head to the side, Manfrey makes a face that has his cousins sharing a confused look with each other. "Is it me, or does it feel like we are sailing faster than one would expect on a river voyage?"

The men glanced at each other before turning to look through the small window. After some jostling and pushing, they each could see what Manfrey was able to feel. The ship was sailing way too fast for river travel. The men looked over at the bowls of water on the table.

"I think we should save this. Add it back to the flask." Leonidas reasoned.

"And while we are at it, maybe fill up a barrel of this water. I mean, it couldn't hurt." Manfrey suggested as he poured the water into the container.

"True." Oberyn agreed as he proceeded to rush out of his room to do exactly that before the ship left the Rhoyne River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not necessarily The North. Just directionally north from where Lys is located on a map.
> 
>   
>  **Leonidas Gargalen**
> 
>   
> **Manfrey Nymeros Martell**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is demanding my attention like now, so here is the next chapter a day earlier than promised.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Elia spent the night thinking about what happened during her bath. She considered each scene frame by frame and wrote what she saw in coded messages on parchment. All they would see was what looked to be poems about flowers and plants to anyone who thought to spy. Nothing of any consequence or note.

It all went so horribly. The death of the Stark Lord and his heir all because the young man came to demand justice for his sister and a father came to champion both his son and his wayward daughter. The King's demand that she return to Kings Landing. Rhaegar finally returned to evade Elia's attempts to get him to admit he took the girl and that he did exactly what he promised he would not do.

Another tragic moment was witnessing the King sending ravens to Doran. The man claimed to assure her safety in return for the support of Dornish fighters. However, once they arrived, the vile bastard threatened her uncle with Elia and children's safety should he not leave to fight with Rhaegar at the Trident. Her uncle left to do his Kings bidding in an effort to save her, and to her most profound regret, he perished as dies her cousins.

There were so many images that hurt her. The marriage of _her husband_ and that chit. He married her. Another moment that bruised her profoundly was the sight of her husband, the Stark girl, and his Kingsguard companions traveling down a familiar path—The Prince's Pass to a round tower at the northern edge of the Red Mountains. The bastard was to take that woman to Dorne. They stayed there and made a child. While Arthur stood by. His silence a sign that he condoned his prince's actions. To hell with the oaths of a Kingsguard, she thought, when it goes against the oath of a knighthood.

Elia could care less about what happened to the young woman since the scene that had followed Rhaegar falling at the Trident was her death and that of her children. How they suffered? Her daughter's wails as Ser Lorch's dagger struck her over and over. It was a brutal contrast to her son's cry and her own pained whimpers under the assault of the Mountain.

This _vision_ was a curse and a gift. She wonders if she was wrong about this. How much damage she would cause to her marriage and to her son's inheritance. However, if she was right... Would it be worth the risk to stay? No. It wasn't. What Elia has at this moment is an element of surprise. No one knows what is to befall the realm, and if the Mother Rhoyne was with her, she would save herself, her family, and perhaps the innocents.

Elia could be smart about this. Only time will tell, and if she is right then she owed her husband nothing. It was with that thought Elia placed her writing beside her and fell into a troubled sleep.

*****

The next morning Elia sat at her desk. Her messenger would secure the help of a smuggler in Kings Landing to assist her in delivering Elia's letter to Dorne. The timing was crucial, and if she was successful, then the message would arrive a sennight to a fortnight before Elia would.

Elia's letter for Doran was ready to depart. She told her brother what she experienced and her intent to flee Dragonstone. It would take her a fortnight to arrange it so that she would not create unnecessary political hardship for herself or her brother. It would not take too much effort to get the maester of Dragonstone to agree that the warm, dry air of Dorne would improve her health. A short trip while her husband was away. The hardest element could be Ser Barristan for she could see him insisting she wait for Rhaegar, but she would not let him deter her. Elia would leave the island, making her way to Dorne. The sailing voyage lasting about a sennight assuming the winds were in her favor--if not then it could be a bit longer.

If she was correct, then by the time she arrived in Dorne, it would be a little over a moon's turn since her husband's departure, and by then, he would have wedded Lady Lyanna. She thought about warning Lord Stark or Lord Tully now, but Elia couldn't without risking her chance to flee. All she can do is pray that the Gods, any and all, will forgive her."

Returning to her previous thread of thought, it would be a matter of days after she made it to Sunspear that Rhaegar and his new princess would arrive in Dorne, if not the abandoned Tower itself. She told her brother to contact Lord Dagos Manwoody for Kingsgrave would be in the best position to detect if her husband had entered the Dornish Marshes.

Once they knew for sure, then they could plan. There was no need to discuss Oberyn, for she knew he was on his way, and Doran would know it too. Remembering a tale she once heard about Rhoyner blood having the ability to call on the Mother. Elia carefully pricked her finger with a needle and allowed the blood to drip into a goblet of water. Feeling as though she had nothing to lose, Elia closed her eyes for a moment, with the tips of her fingers in the cup she prayed to the Mother Rhoyne to give Doran a sign that what she writes is true. 

The knock on her door pulled Elia's attention from her thoughts. She placed the note under some papers on her desk before calling out for the person to enter. Much to her relief, it was her uncle and his paramour. Elia sent them a sad smile as she stood up to greet the woman who held such a large part of her uncle's heart.

While his Kingsguard brothers knew of her uncle's paramour's existence, they didn't know who _she_ was. Elia had heard the quiet speculations. A whore plucked out of a brothel. A merchant's daughter. A widow. None could be further from the truth. In fact, she was the daughter of a Reacher Lord who was secretly forced into becoming a septa once her father had discovered she had given herself to a Dornishman. The realm thinks she's a mad maiden locked in a tower, but Elia and her family know better. 

When her uncle learned of what had happened, he had been too late to help her. Out of her father's control and in the hands of the Faith, the lady changed her name to Septa Lemore. A name that Elia learned was a pseudonym that some septas took as a form of quiet rebellion in honor of the real Septa Lemore, who was a woman unjustly slated for the role. Her uncle found her and brought her to Kings Landing, where she has _served_. 

Pulled into the older woman's embrace, Elia took in the warmth, for if she was honest, a large part of her felt cold to her bones. Pulling apart, Elia held on to Septa Lemore's hands. 

"My uncle has spoken to you. Are you sure you are prepared to do this?" Elia inquired. She knew her uncle's love was putting herself in a degree of danger.

"I serve at the pleasure of my family, Elia. If your uncle says my task can save your life, and his, then there is nothing to reconsider, my dear. I have done this similar task many times on behalf of your uncle and your Mother. I can do this for you. Do not fret."

Elia looked over at her Uncle Lewyn and took in his sharp nod. A sadden smile of his own reflected back at Elia. Turning back to her desk, Elia pulled out her letter, folded, and sealed it with her husband's crest.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the woman she had known for half her life, grateful for her presence. Elia passed the missive to her. Septa Lemore looked at the letter and patted Elia gently on her cheek. How that brought her a moment of comfort? 

"Prepare yourself. I will be successful as will you." The older woman spoke. Her voice was kind yet steady. Elia could see why her uncle loved this woman so.

Turning to her uncle, Septa Lemore murmured quietly, "This is where we part, my love. I will see you in Dorne."

Elia attempted to give her uncle and lover privacy by turning away, but Elia didn't need eyes to feel the passionate bond between them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle pull his love close as he covered her lips with his own. A gentle _tsk_ was all to be heard as they pulled apart. Her uncle walked his love to the door, they both turned to Elia, and they nodded in a shared understanding of what was to come before they both left.

*****

It was as Elia expected. She knew maester pretty well as she was seen by so many as a child. She learned, after a time, what symptoms would warrant a specific remedy. This maester on Dragonstone had extreme feelings about the dampness in the air on the island being less desirous for a woman of her condition. Most times, Elia had to refrain from rolling her eyes. These men knew very little about what she needed, and they felt as though their remedies were better warranted than another maester. In the end, it seems as though their diagnosis were less about her and more about them.

A few days after Septa Lemore departed. Elia set to work on the maester, and sure enough, he recommended that Elia spend some time in a dryer climate. She even made it a point that Ser Barristan was in attendance for this news. Elia made sure to protest just enough.

"Are you sure, maester? Should I not wait for my husband." Adding an extra cough to follow her question.

"Yes, Princess. I had been in talks with the prince before his departure about this very concern. You had been so weak after Prince Aegon's birth. Prince Rhaegar told me himself that he would bring you to Dorne himself if you took a turn for the worst. If the prince were here, he would take every precaution with your health. A short trip, a moon turn should do the trick." Elia kept indecision on her face as the man spoke about how her husband would take care of her. Perhaps he meant he planned to bring her bones or ashes to Dorne himself. She doubted he thought of her at all. No, he was on his way to his Northern bride, if they hadn't reunited yet. She was sure of it.

"Well, if you insist. I defer to your sound judgment. Ser Barristan, would you please send for Ashara. I had left her in the nursery before having my little spell. I will need her help prepare for this journey, albeit short, as well as the castellan."

The man looked momentarily unsure, before nodding in acceptance. "Yes, Princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now before you burn me at the stake for this blasphemy regarding septas and the Sevens, I will say this is not about people being devout to the Faith. This septa is not a generalization of all, though there are septons and septas who engage in sexy-time. This septa has her reasons for breaking her vows and she doesn't care. 
> 
>   
> **Septa Lemore**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I'm just playing around!

Solitude is a gift for a man like the Prince of Dorne. Growing up, his mother would share pieces of wisdom that only she, as the Princess of Dorne, could share for it comes from an experience unique to a limited few. One of those pearls is prioritizing moments of solitude because the people in their world, no matter how well-meaning, will not.

If he closed his eyes, Doran could still picture his mother. She was a beauty. A true princess with the mind and humor to dare any man think her lesser. Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell raised her children to see beyond physical appearances. While beauty has its place, there are more to people than just aesthetics. You glean more about a person through their actions than through their looks. The truth is easy to show, while a lie is so much harder to maintain.

From his perch, Doran can discreetly observe the children playing in the Water Gardens. In this particular pool, Obara is holding the hand of her younger sister, Sarella, as the babe tries to her best attempt at a jump. A task her sister Tyene and his daughter are demonstrating as they hop around the water, making large splashes that almost cover their squeals of delight.

As he watches the girls, he can see pieces of his mother in them. Perhaps not in looks but in temperaments and expressions. He wonders if such would be true for Elia's daughter, Rhaenys. Since the child looks so much like her mother, then his answer would be yes as Elia shares many traits with their mother even though most would say Elia was more demure of the two.

The thought brings a soft smile to Doran's face. A truth, but then Elia was a princess of Dorne and not The Princess of Dorne. It was acceptable for his beloved sister to be seen as less intimidating than their mother. What people failed to see that Elia was smarter than they gave her credit for. There are times, he does worry for Elia, as she will be the next Queen, assuming she recovers from this latest birth.

A particular loud scream draws Doran to focus his eyes back to the pool. The girls are in the midst of much fun, but he is not fooled and knows they will get into some mischief at some point. They are the grandchildren of Princess Lorenza, and his mother had a reputation for being a bit reckless in her childhood, as were his younger siblings. While Doran's daughter and son are trueborn, Oberyn's daughters are not, and he does not see them as lesser in his eyes. They carry his blood even if his younger brother is too foolish to not give them his name.

The girls have occupied a bit of his mind lately as they have grappled in their own way with their father's absence. Their struggle usually involves some behavior that requires his attention. Doran hopes his brother is on his way. The last sennight Doran has been plagued with dreams he cannot explain and wonders if an omen is trying to reveal itself as they have been known to do with the other Martells in the past.

Doran does not know if his concern should be aimed at his brother or sister or if the issue is beyond them and a matter of countrywide concern. Just as he is about to rise, he sees these dark eyes peering silently through two huge leaves near an enormous plant on the veranda. Keeping his sigh quiet, his quiet time disturbed, Doran tilts his head making eye contact with the little sand viper hiding in the bush.

"Areo Hotah!"

"Yes, my Prince." The large dark-skinned Norvoshi walked up to Doran, his body blocking the bright sun.

"Would you say that your primary occupation is to ensure my safety?"

"Yes, my Prince. It is. Why do you ask? Have I been remiss in some way?"

"Hmmm...either you are becoming soft, or we are in the midst of one of the greatest assassins to come out of Dorne."

A small child's giggle drew the men's eyes to the potted plant. Seeing the _danger_ to the Prince had the large warrior suppressing a rare smile on his broad face.

"Perhaps it is a combination, Prince Doran. My deepest apologies. I shall except my penance as you see fit."

"I will have to think of the perfect punishment for you, but until then, you might find it the right time to make yourself know, Little Lady."

"That's Lady Nym, Uncle."

"Ah, yes. My apologies. Come here, Lady Nym. What brings you to see me?"

While Doran might not know what her mother looks like, he can see his brother's eyes and a bit of his mother in their shared cheekbones and hair. A Martell without a doubt.

"I wanted to make Father a gift. A new dagger, but I need your help. I do not know how to make one." The small child crawled out of her hiding place with a small parchment in her hand.

Holding out the drawing to her Uncle Doran, he took great care with the paper. Looking at the rendering of a dagger in a child's hand. He listened carefully as the little girl explained her plan. She missed her father, and a part of him ached for her. An uncle, no matter how warm, does not compare to the love she receives from Oberyn. Studying the design, a crude image indeed, the details were actually very well done. If this could be made, he knew his brother would appreciate it for the sentiment and the functionality.

"What do you think, Uncle?"

"I think it would make a wonderful nameday gift. If I have your permission, I will inquire about having it commission for you—for your father." Doran told the girl with complete seriousness.

Dark eyes shone with joy as the small girl launched herself into her uncle's arms. Doran gave her a gentle hug. She warmed his heart, but there was still a niggling feeling that danger was on the horizon. As his mother's son, Doran knew to give that feeling credence.

*****

The sun was warm on his skin, and the freshly earned sweat from his run through the different pools in the water gardens. Doran was once again a boy on the cusp of being a man. His body felt firm with the flexibility that comes with youth and a healthy constitution. Doran ran past a private pergola. Something about the dwelling caused him to pause. It was familiar, and there was a quiet voice calling his name—a voice he has not heard in many years, five to be exact.

Slowly, Doran turned and walked back to stand before a tented canopy that housed plush sofas and chair. The curtains, pillows, and cushions are colored in vivid jewel tones. Seated on a center chaise, with one arm draped over the back and another holding a goblet in their hand sat his mother, Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell.

"Welcome, my sunrise." A slow smile pulled at her lips.

"Mama...Mother." He corrected himself. Mama was acceptable when he was just a boy and his mother's only babe, but now he is the oldest child, and he was to be the Prince of Dorne after his mother. He knows his courtesies, but it had been so long since he had seen her that he forgot himself for just that moment, and once again, he was a little boy who had missed his mama.

"Come here, my love. Come sit beside me. Our time is short, and there is much I need to say."

Trotting towards her, he lowered himself to the ground. Resting his arms on her knee, his eyes large and wide that the soaked her image in. Her slender fingers ran through his hair. Doran noticed his strong mother had tears in her eyes, and she smiled at him.

"Oh, Doran. I wish you knew how much I love you and that I am so sorry for the path I set you and your siblings on."

The past and the present seemed to blur his consciousness. His younger sister and brother are still babes under two namedays. Still, he has memories of being a man with a wife and children...he remembers the day he lost his mother to the rot in her bones, and yet he has the body of a boy with no signs of gout that has begun to plague his body as a man.

"I do not understand," Doran whispered. His voice sounds so young to his ears.

"I know, but you will if you pay close attention, my sunrise."

Cupping his face in her hands, his mother's voice soothed and warned him.

"Another Valyrian threat comes for us—it comes for the Rhoynar and with it the Dornish. It comes from within from distant kin who claims their Valyrian roots while forgetting their Dornish ones. But then I wonder if the warning these Valyrians had so long ago and how they fled to save themselves from the Doom. Perhaps their gods are still trying to save themselves. If the betrayer succeeds, it will mean the end of your sister and her children, your brother and his, as well as you and yours. It will mean the loss of countless Dornishmen. It will also see the end of the Valyrian and his house."

"What shall I do, Mother? How do I stop this?"

"Look and listen. Trust the signs. You were always so good at that." The Princess ruffled his hair as she pulled him close to her—their foreheads met.

"Do not forget to be ruthless, for the need will arise. We have enemies that do not like the Dornish influence in the court. Westeros disliked it with Myriah, and they dislike it still with your sister."

"Elia will be Queen?" Doran asked his voice did not hide his confusion.

"Now she remains a Princess, and if the Valyrian succeeds, she will die as one. Remember, my son, what I have told you about a well-placed single viper."

Doran had learned so many things from his mother. Even when he was squiring, his mother frequently sent her pearls of wisdom to him. Once he returned to Sunspear, she continued to prepare him to be the head of the Nymeros Martell's, but just as importantly, she trained him to be Dorne's ruler. As his memories filter through his mind, he recalls an old conversation.

"A well-placed viper can kill a stag, lion, fish, falcon, wolf, crow and even a kraken." A young boy's voice spoke with a conviction that all his mother's wisdom was truth.

"Yes, and what about dragons and roses." Her smile reached her eyes, a joy Doran felt every time he thought he pleased his mother.

"The dragons and the roses need the sun to thrive, for they will wilt in darkness. In their wilt, they are weak, which leaves the spear to cut them down."

"Yes, my boy. Remember these words. Look for the signs. Do not act with indecision and without impunity. You are my sunrise, Doran. You are my legacy and the best of your father and I. The best I could leave Dorne. You were my greatest wish. My rising son."

Fearing that their time was coming to an end, Doran wrapped his arms around his mother's waist. She felt warm and real. His eyes began to burn as he held her tight. The man in him remembered losing her once, but the boy in him had never been ready to see her go.

"I love you, Mother." Unable to speak any further, Doran wept in his mother's arms.

"I love you more. Never doubt that." 

Her voice—it was wet with tears and the occasional hitch that pulled at his own heart.

" Together you, your sister, and your brother can protect our family—protect Dorne. Always remember that I love you, Doran."

They held each other as the sun began to fall, and the set was to begin. Gentle sobs pulled him from this dream state to the present. The grown man in him straddled the realm of sleep and awareness. His own quiet weeping pulled him into the now, but Doran heard his mother's departing message before he opened his eyes.

"The Mother Rhoyne sends her love, my sunrise."

*****

Later that day, Doran shared his dream with his wife, Mellario.

"Do you think it was a dream or a vision, Doran? Both can be very different things." Her Novorshi, accented words whispered quietly into his ear.

"Honestly, it felt less like a dream and more like an omen." Doran reached for his wife's hand, bringing it to his lips.

"Perhaps you should send a raven to your sister and send word to your brother that it is time for him to return home."

Doran had been thinking the same along those lines as well.

"That may be best for where is the harm in inquiring."

"Yes. What answers you seek would confirm a dream or omen."

A knock at the door forces the Prince of Dorne and his consort to end their conversation prematurely.

"Yes, enter."

Doran's main guard Areo Hotah walked through the door.

"My Prince, there is a Septa Lemore who requested a private audience with you."

Doran turned to his wife as she nodded towards his man.

"My love, I think we have a sign..." Doran whispered.

No sooner did the words leave his mouth did he see his Uncle Lewyn's paramour stroll into the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, I went with a young version of GoT's Doran. Alexander Siddig will always be Doran for me. He was so sadly underused. 
> 
>   
> **Prince Doran Nymeros Martell**
> 
>   
> **Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell**
> 
>   
> **Princess Consort Mellario of Norvos**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure I would have been able to post today as this weekend my friends whisked me away for a birthday weekend. Good thing all I had to do were minor edits. Enjoy and Happy Birthday to all those virgo's out there. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own GRRM's characters. I am just using my imagination and playing around with them.

Oberyn stood in a citrus grove that smelled of blood oranges, which reminds him of his father. Trebor Gargalen was a solid man who loved a good fight just as much as he loved a good blood orange. The younger twin of Tremond Gargalen, he was a man who taught Oberyn how to lead, fight, and live without having to conform.

The man was a non-conformist in the most obvious of ways. He married the Princess of Dorne, walked away from the opportunity to lead a branch of his own house. In the end, he was secure enough within himself that he opted for marrying a more powerful spouse and forfeiting the right of his children to have his name.

That never translated to the loss of family. No, he was just as much Gargalen as he was Martell. In many ways, Oberyn was his father's son as he too does not feel the need to give his daughters his name when he has given the family—and a sense of belonging. It is Oberyn's intent for his daughters to have a strong identity as a Martell and to be other just as he is. To be—free and bound.

"It has been a long time, my son." An older man's voice carried through a grove of trees.

"Baba, Father?" Oberyn's voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

"I would ask who else would it be, but then my brother and I do sound very much alike."

The sound of footfalls to the ground revealed to Oberyn the direction his sire was coming from. A purposeful gesture for the man was known to be a silent viper in his own right. Well, at least when he wanted to. Outgoing and verbose was the Prince Consort Trebor most of the time. Turning around, it took nary a second for his father to be revealed to him as he poked his head out from behind a tree.

Oberyn lost his breath for a moment. How he missed this man, his father, the one beside Elia who knew him best. He didn't care why he could see and speak to his father at the moment. Finding his voice, Oberyn replied, "Only to those who do not know you well."

Both men looked stoically at each other until their faces simultaneously broke out in smiles. Walking towards each other, father and son embraced. Though he was no longer a little boy, Oberyn turned his head into his father's neck and inhaled deeply. He was gifted with the scent that reminded him of his father. Whatever this was, Trebor Gargalen was here.

Pulling back, Oberyn asked, "Do you know about Elia? Has the Mother Rhoyne shown you? Have you seen what will happen to her?"

"I have seen one outcome for Elia. A potential path. It is one that chills my father's heart, and not being with you to save her forces my rage to flow through me with very little recourse for expression."

"You say its only one outcome. There are others?" Though a dream, he thinks this conversation gives him hope that Elia could have heeded his warning.

"The path we saw is if we do nothing now. If Elia obeyed the summons from King Aerys. Your sister is the key to forcing your brother's hand. Now this journey has changed. Into what I cannot say for I do not know."

Oberyn considers his father's words as they walk along a bank of trees. Looking out, he can see the sun is about to set. A sign that this moment was sure to end soon, and yet he still didn't know if _he_ would be able to alter Elia's path for the better or did he set her on another passage that would yield the same result. 

"Do you know why your mother called Doran her sunrise, Elia her sunray, and you---her sunset?"

Unsure of where this conversation was now heading, Oberyn humored his father's question as if this was all the balance of time they had left.

"Other than we are of the sun through mama, no?"

His father laughed at him.

"I think it's important for you to know—for you to know your places as the children of The Princess. Doran was her sunrise, for he brought hope and guidance each day, which is a task he as the Prince of Dorne was taught to do."

"Hmmm...and Elia."

"My dear girl was called sunray because she could be the balance between you and your brother's harshness. Strong she is, and yet Elia has a gentle touch that warms others to her. She is the application that makes things grow and rise—to sustain the living. Without the sun's rays, we all wilt and die."

"When I first had the vision in the river, I saw what became of Doran and me after she died. I saw what became of our family and our people. Dorne remained a part of the Seven Kingdoms, but we were no longer the same. Dorne died, and something began to fester on our remains when we lost Elia and her children."

The older man stopped his progression and put his warm hand on Oberyn's shoulder. Looking up into his father's dark eyes, his complexion so much like his own, Oberyn dreaded the future. What if they were wrong?

"I saw what you saw. I know what you know. While she is your sister and you love her as part of your soul, she is my child though a woman grown with babes of her own. I held her when she was nary moments old, and the maester thought she would not survive. Of my flesh, this child that was of my seed was so small and defenseless, and I, with all my power, could not save her. What kind of father did that make me?"

Tears began to stream down the face of his father. Clearly, the man was transported back to his own memories. A time that was unknowable to Oberyn.

"I prayed harder than I had prayed before. I thought to hell with the Faith, for they had not saved Mors or Olyvaar. I brought her to one of the pools at the Water Gardens, and with a priest of the Greenblood, I prayed to the Mother Rhoyne to save her. The priest blessed her with the water from the Greenblood, for it was blessed by its followers. I thought I had nothing to lose, and I was willing to believe with complete trust. Your sister lived, and she has spent her life proving the naysayers wrong. I must believe in death that your sister will still cling to life."

"I never knew this. You always told us stories about how special the water was in the Water Gardens. I remember how we teased Elia about it when we were younger. We would tell her she was a water goddess or a water witch because the water would always rise when she was near, or the fish were more plentiful when she was around but nary a catch when she was away."

His father released a deep laugh that reminding Oberyn of Doran. "Yes, Elia is special, my son. Then all my children are...even you."

"Me? I feel I have been more challenge than I might have been worth. I have grown more outrageous with time since your departure. I have gifted you a number of granddaughters."

"I am aware. You are a good father in your way. It was never in you to be like everyone else. I do not foresee that changing now that your mother and I are gone. They remind me of your mother in different ways. They hold much of you in them as well."

"Which I have inherited from you, Father."

"Hmmm...you may be very right about that. There is a reason for it, I suppose. It serves your purpose as a sunset."

"Do tell?"

"Your mother called you her sunset because at the end of the day, if Doran leadership and Elia's cultivation could not yield fruitful promise, then when the day ends, Doran needs to remove the obstacles that prevent a new slate from presenting itself in the light of the next day. You are the end. The last chance against those who do to harm to Dorne and to the Martell rule. Sunrise, sunrays, sunset—you are connected and forevermore needed to see yourselves through this quandary."

"In other words, be the Red Viper."

"When the situation calls for it. Do not be difficult with Doran during this. Trust your siblings to fight with you in their own ways. Battles do not always mean swords and spears though they serve their purpose. Sometimes a sword and spear could be a well-placed ally or foe or a well-said word. You might be your brother's might and your sister's protector, but together you are stronger and deadlier than alone."

Oberyn considers his father's words. While he loves his brother, he knows he has chafed against Doran's authority. It is hard when a brother acts more like a father. Oberyn could only imagine how lonely it must have been not to have Elia, Leonidas, or Manfrey grown up. This sympathetic awareness doesn't' always translate to understanding his brother's position when Oberyn is already annoyed or angry.

"I will try, Father."

"We are past trying, Oberyn. Now is the time to succeed. If you had made different choices in Dorne, then Doran wouldn't have told you to leave. You could have been in Westeros and closer to Elia and your brother. Instead, you are neither. I am not telling you not to be yourself, but I would caution you to be smarter."

The words punched Oberyn in the gut. His father was right. In the vision, the guilt that ate at Oberyn the most was the knowledge he hadn't been in Westeros to save his sister. Attempting to quell his breath, his father continues to walk.

"I understand how it feels Oberyn wanting to be seen differently than your older brother and considered just as valuable and worthy. While you have over a decade between you and Doran, imagine looking the same and having minutes between you and your brother. The time has come to put such childish feelings away."

Turning to catch up to his father, Oberyn calls out.

"I love my brother. I just don't always agree with how he sees or reacts to the world."

"That's is a reasonable impression to have. You both sit at different perspectives, as does your sister. The issue isn't that you see the world differently, but rather it's how you act on these beliefs that define you, my son."

Nodding in understanding, Oberyn sees his father extend his arms open, welcoming him into another embrace. Accepting, Oberyn hugs his father one last time.

"I miss you, baba and I miss mama."

"We miss you, too, sunset."

Both men let out wet husky chuckles.

"Heed my words Oberyn. You are the Red Viper, but you are not alone. I think it wise to send Manfrey to Dorne and Leo to further on. Make haste for Elia will need you."

Nodding in affirmation to his father's words, Oberyn awoke and found himself in his cabin, clutching his pillow with the scent of blood oranges in the air.

*****

Doran had read the letter Elia sent to his in the hands of Septa Lemore. The woman told Doran and his wife of Elia and Lewyn's concerns. She shared how devastated Elia seemed to be, and yet there was underlying steel within her that reminded Lemore of his mother.

"What will you do, husband?" His wife of many years inquired.

As he looked at the letter in his hand, Doran considered his wife's question, and he thought of his mother's words. _"A well-placed viper..."_

"Mellario, Lord Harmen Uller, and his entourage are still in residence, yes?"

"Correct, love. He is set to depart tomorrow. Why?"

Raising his eyes to Septa Lemore's, he saw the woman tilt her head as a slow smile spread across her face.

"The Uller's have a reputation of ridding Dorne of an unwanted dragon in the past." His uncle's lover replied.

"I was just thinking that perhaps they would like the honor of doing so once again." Doran's eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities. Rising to find a parchment and quill at his desk, Doran writes his request and seals the note closed with his sigil.

"Areo!"

"Yes, my Prince."

"See that this gets to Lord Uller. I want you to personally see to its delivery. Wait for his word before you return."

"Yes, my Prince."

"Do you think he will help? I sometimes wonder about him." Mellario rose to stand before her husband.

"I do. In fact, I think his visit might be unexpected providence." Doran pulled his wife close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I worry for Elia and her children." Melario murmurs. 

"I do too." Doran responds just as quietly as his eyes meet Lemore's over his wife's head.

"I find comfort in your uncle being with her." Lemore speaks quietly from across the room.

Pulling away, Mellario turns to the other woman. "Blessed be the gods that he is."

Later on that day, Lord Uller arrives.

Doran opens the floor to Lord Uller's questions—and concerns. When he sees the man seemed satisfied with Doran's replies, Doran asks Uller to share his thoughts.

"You have no doubt that Prince Rhaegar will bring his _bride_..." the man all but spat the word out in disgust "to that tower."

"Yes. It will be him, the Stark girl, and two kingsguards—Dayne and Whent. If she is with child, we cannot let it continue to thrive, and if she is not with child, we must ensure it remains that way."

"Doing so with the least amount of violence as Princess Elia is not yet in Dorne." Lord Uller remarked more so to himself than to Doran, it seems.

"Correct. I imagine they would welcome at least one _servant_ in the tower. How fortuitous would it be if they found one already there?" Doran countered.

"Extremely. I would say a woman rather than a man. The bastard prince would not want another rooster to potentially lure his hen. Yes, a woman. One who is knowledgeable in herb lore, midwifery, and can fight as well as fuck with little concern if need be."

"An ideal warrior of a different caliber. Do you know of such a person? Is she someone we can trust?"

The older man's smile was dark as it spread across his face.

"I know exactly the woman."

Turning away from Doran and towards the doors, the man called out, "Ria!"

The double doors opened, and Doran watched as a young woman of maybe twenty years walked towards them. He noticed she kept her head down, but she was an extremely pretty woman from what he could see.

The woman reached out her hand to hold on to Lord Uller's extended one.

"Father."

Father! At that moment, Doran knew who stood before him. He had heard of her, but he never had the opportunity to meet her as she tended to keep her time to the Water Gardens when Lord Uller visited Sunspear. Standing before Doran was the Bastard of Hellholt, Ellaria Sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Prince Consort Trebor Gargalen**
> 
>   
> **Lord Harmen Uller**
> 
>   
> **Ellaria Sand**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are GRRM's. I am just playing with them.
> 
> Enjoy :)

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia seek and you shall see._

Snapping herself awake, Elia's eyes open wide as she takes a sweep of her chamber. No one is there. She was alone. Feeling the painful fullness in her breast, she pulls herself out of bed and ties her robe around her. Aegon should be hungry soon if he is not already. Making enough milk is hard for her, and when she has produced enough, she doesn't waste the opportunity to nourish her son.

Elia carefully opens the door to find a house guard standing at attention. The young man positioned stoically beside the entrance.

"Princess, might I be of service?"

"I want to go to the nursery."

"Very good."

Elia turns towards the room that holds her most prized creations—her children. The guard followed behind her silently. As she comes upon the room, she sees Ser Lewyn stationed at the door.

"Uncle."

"Niece. You come just in time. The wetnurse just entered. He seems mighty hungry if his roar was any indication."

"Perfect. I will see to him now."

Elia quietly entered the room as she didn't want to startle her little ones.

"Princess Elia! Are you here to tend to the young prince." The woman, a young mother who has helped Elia nurse Aegon looked over and whispered.

"Hello, Katyrn. I think I may have enough this night." The women make an exchange. Elia's arms now filled her with a child.

"I will check on Princess Rhaenys. Call me if you have a need, Princess."

Elia nodded her acknowledgment. While she hated to wake the woman, she didn't want to miss out on her own chance to feed her son. Sitting carefully on a chair, she adjusted herself to reveal a wet nipple. The babe sensing milk and, therefore, an end to his hungry.

Smiling as her son latches on to her, Elia couldn't help but trace the contours of Aegon's face. His pale complexion a sharp contrast to her own dark one. Elia wonders if her son can sense the uncertainty of their situation if he can feel her fear, anger, confusion, and pain. His indigo eyes penetrate her own gaze, and for a moment, she thinks her son cares for nothing but trusting in the safety of her arms. This thought makes her heart clench, and she swears she will ensure that his blind trust will not be for naught. She will save him even if she must lose her life in the process.

_Elia, seek the water._

Elia hears the voice from her dream. What water does she wonder? The sea--for being on an island Elia is surrounded by tons of it. Was it a bowl worth? When she hoped the Mother Rhoyne would send Doran a message she made a small blood prayer she learned many years ago to help ensure it, but she wasn't sure if it worked.

_Elia, seek the water._

The woman's voice repeated the words. A familiar voice but one she hadn't heard in years.

"Mother..." Elia whispered. Her voice dying out in surprise and growing fear.

The pitcher on the table beside her began to rock back and forth. Elia held all her mental faculties and knew that pitchers didn't move without human force. The container tipped over and fell onto the tabletop, but the water that trickled out didn't spill off the counter.

_Elia, seek and you shall see._

Elia always had a love of water. Her dearest memories were from her time in the Water Gardens. She felt her most strong there, almost as if she were bonded to the pools' water. Something told her to listen to the voice. Seek the water, and she shall see. Reaching out her hand, she let her fingertips touch the water. It took a little time, but Elia found herself drifting. Her arm held Aegon securely and that she could feel, but her mind—it wandered.

The nursery she was no longer in. She stood among tall white trees that had blood-red leaves and odd faces carved on their trunks. Everywhere she looked, there were the trees. Weirwood Trees. Elia tried to remember where on Westeros would there be so many of these trees. She knew they were valued by those who followed the Old Gods and the Andals did their best to destroy them as the Faith swept through Westeros. The North fought them off well and it's there they seldom keep to the new gods. Was she in the North?

Elia began to walk through the woods, she heard a familiar voice floating through the wind. Turning, she made her way towards the sound and, in doing so, heard other voices as they became louder and clearer. She steps out into a clearing, her heart stopped. Standing before a heart tree stood her husband and the Stark girl as they stand before a septon.

_"Who comes before the Old Gods this day?"_

She heard the words and saw the image before her, but Elia still wasn't clear on what she was seeing. How could a Septon oversee a marriage ceremony done in the religion of the Old Gods? How could he perform a ceremony when he must know who her husband is and that he is already married with children?

"He needs a Septon to verify the truth of the ceremony." A woman's voice spoke quietly. Elia stilled as it was a voice she had spent most of her life hearing. She had called it her inner voice because no one else seemed to notice when it spoke. As she had gotten older, the voice was harder to hear until she seldom heard it, but after her dream with Oberyn, the voice has become louder.

The two kings guards looked at each other before Arthur took a deep breath before shaking his head subtly. Whent nodded at his brother and spoke.

_"Lyanna, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"_

Elia scoffed out loud though she could tell that no one could see or hear her. _A woman grown._ Barely! _Trueborn._ Yes, which is why she should know better. _Noble._ A noble person doesn't marry a man who is already married and who has trueborn children with his wife...period. May her own gods smite her, Elia thought.

_"Rhaegar, of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne and Dragonstone. Who gives her?"_

The bastard. He is truly marrying her and what of our children and me. Had he not promised me that he would not do anything else to humiliate me. What does he think I will feel once I become aware of this? Does he think he can hide it until he's ready to reveal? Does he think I will accept annulment or the potential bastardization of my children? Does he think to annul and keep my children? What in all of this do you think will be fair and right, Rhaegar?

Elia could feel the burn in her eyes and the tears began to slip down her face. Her expression was torn between rage and heartache.

_"Oswell, of the House Whent."_

Shaking her head, she thinks this man bears no relation to Lady Lyanna, and though a follower of the Sevens knows better than to make a claim, the Old Gods would reject.

 _"Lady Lyanna, do you take this man?"_ The Septon asked, his voice sounded unsure if not dubious. Perhaps it's because you know what you are participating in is a sham against your own faith septon. Maybe you should be more concerned with the gods and less with the request of this man you call prince.

 _"I take this man."_ Lyanna's voice was so strong and true without doubts.

Elia's mind just raced with questions upon hearing this woman speak. How do you foresee this working, Lady Lyanna? Do you know what is to happen to me? Am I do be disposed of and my children as well? Do you see us as sister-wives to a Targaryen king? Am I to accept being an intruder in my marriage when you are the usurper? What truths do you know or have told yourself? Was I ever a thought of yours? Were my children?

As she watches the scene before her, Elia remembers standing before the realm at the Sept of Baelor, and her husband held her hand as he spoke the words that sealed their union.

_"I am hers, and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days."_

At that moment so long ago, she believed him. Then he made her think it every day of their marriage until Harrenhal, even though he tried to mask that his attention was torn.

_"I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."_

The newly married couple lean towards one another as their crowns rest against each other and their hands holding tight. The tears in Elia's grew hot and she could only contribute the change to the rage she was feeling. Wiping her eyes, she turned to see Arthur. The man kept his eyes averted as Whent kept his head down. Did they do this out of privacy or shame? If they have any shred of honor left she hopes the reason is the latter.

Returning her gaze to her husband she found herself remember all the small moments of their life together. The memories that built her world with him. She saw them as they flash through her mind. The laughter, the intimacy--both in body and in mind, the children, their talks of committing to a true marriage even though they were a political match. He made her believe. His actions made her trust that she was luckier than most to find love in a match that was chosen for them. _He made her believe! ___

____

____

Then the images faded to black and the sound of a heavy door locking shut had followed. He is dead to her now. If she fails to get to Dorne with her children, he stands a greater chance of being free of her on her death. It would make for such a tragic story to add to her husband's collection. The keeper of melancholic tomes. The silent viper that lives within her prefers the opposite. Let her be free of him upon Rhaegar seeing the end of his days.

*****

A walk along the beach has pulled at Elia, and today she planned to make the journey. She knows Ashara worries about the distance, but Elia's body is feeling strong despite her emotional wellbeing. As the women walk along the shore, the water spray reaches them as it drifts in the wind.

"So how are you fairing? You seem a bit better with this recovery than you had with Rhaenys." Elia's oldest friend asked.

"I feel stronger on most days. With Rhaenys, I didn't know what was truly expected from my body until I experienced it. I guess my body remembers that it hasn't been that long since I was in this state."

"Well, whatever it is, I am glad for it. I worried so much for you the first time. It feels nice to worry less."

Elia laughed, and Ashara linked her arms together as they continued their walk.

"You are a loyal friend, Ash."

"Us Dayne's have always been loyal, sister of my heart. Allister and Doran, Arthur and Oberyn, you and me. We are tied."

Elia stiffened upon hearing Ashara mention Arthur.

"Loyalty changes as we grow. Our commitments in adulthood may pull us away from what we once were. I guess it isn't until we are tried and tested do we know for sure if the loyalties of childhood still remain."

Elia murmured, for she didn't want to explain that Arthur made a choice that she could never have foresaw. A choice that she couldn't redesign in her head that would have demonstrated loyalty—as friends and as countrymen.

"True for most, but I would jump from a tower if my brothers or I broke the trust between us. It would never happen. Hellholt would get a river of clean water before that happened." Ashara laughed at her own jest, and Elia's lost her breath as she saw her friend standing on the edge of a windowsill and the hot sulfurous river near Hellholt began to change as fish began to swim in it."

Stopping their stroll, Elia turns Ashara to look at her—eye to eye. A voice quaked with emotion, a pleading in her tone, "Never jest about that, Ashara. What your brothers may choose to do is for them to decided and live with. I would be bereft if I lost you for the actions of another. Please take back your words."

"Elia. I am only jesting. My brothers..."

"I do not care what your brothers may or may not do. I care only for what you would. Please take it back." Elia didn't know where such desperation came from. This need to have Ashara reclaim words that clearly were meant as a jape.

Ashara stared at Elia for a long while, confusion on her face, until she seemed to understand that this topic was important to Elia.

"Very well. I take it back. I won't take on the atonement of others. I swear, Elia."

Nodding her acceptance, Elia pulled Ashara into an embrace. She rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder.

"Elia, what is wrong." Concern laced Ashara's voice as her arms wrapped around Elia and holding her securely.

Elia knew she should remain silent until she and her children were in Dorne. She would not risk that goal for no one. Not even Ashara. To deflect, Elia held Ashara just as tightly.

"I miss Dorne. Do you miss it?"

Pulling back to look at Elia, Ashara nodded with a gentle smile gracing her ethereal face.

"Profoundly. I am glad we will go back, if even for a moon's turn."

Elia wasn't sure how to move beyond this conversation. It felt incomplete.

"Better a moon's turn than nothing. If you want to show your loyalty, you must make sure we depart on time. I have checked our plans with the castellan. Would you check as well? I want to make sure I haven't forgotten anything." 

"Of course, my Princess."

Turning away, arms linked, Elia continued to walk along the beach with Ashara. Every time she felt the drops of water, she prayed that her plan to leave would work, and may the mother provide her with an alternative path should she meet a challenge before then.

*****

The sennight before they were to depart, Ser Barristan had made comments that cause Elia concern. He gently, but persistently, encouraged her to wait on Rhaegar to return or to send word to King Aerys to seek his permission.

Elia thanked him for his concern but deferred to the Maester's treatment of Dorne being the best place for her recovery. Ashara continued to gently dismiss the recommendation as well, and each time she did, the man blushed furiously. Even her Uncle Lewyn stood against his brother's concern. It seemed the man was less concerned with her leaving and more unsure about her leaving with her children. It made Elia wonder if this knight knew of Rhaegar's plans.

On the day they were to depart, Ser Barristan once again insisted that Elia stays and waits for Rhaegar. They are standing at the harbor when harsh words are said.

"My Princess, I insist."

"No Ser. You have passed insistence and are now firmly rooted in impertinence. You are a member of the Kingsguard. I am the Crown Prince's wife. I am a Princess in my own right. Who are you to tell me that I cannot travel to a place that will improve my health? Who are you to impose your will on my decision?"

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, Princess Elia, but you take with you the Crown Prince's heir. If something were to happen to the children over the sea, how do we answer the King and the Prince."

"If you wanted a wife to control, then perhaps you should not have taken the king guard's vows, Ser Barristan. Now do your duty and protect the royal family as we sojourn to Dorne. If that is difficult for you to do, then you are more than welcome to see yourself back to Kings Landing. I wish you the best as you attempt to explain to the King and, more importantly, your Prince that you thought leaving us without guard was a better choice than potentially dying doing your duty."

The knight jolted as if she slapped him, but Elia felt a clawing terror rise in her. She needed to get off this island. She needed to get to Dorne. If she failed, they would die. Then she heard the voice.

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia seek and you shall see._

A horn blared and pulled Elia and the knight's attention. Elia could not believe her eyes. She hadn't seen the sigil on that sail in a long time. The soft footfalls behind her told her that her uncle had returned from the ship, where he had followed the children and Ashara.

"Is that..." Her uncle's voice trailed.

Elia couldn't take her eyes off the small boat that was rowing her way. They were close and must have been coming towards her for a while.

It took all she had in her to restrain herself from launching through the sea to get to the man who stood in the front of the boat, a smirk on his face, the one she was sure he came out of the womb with.

He was here. His voice was loud and clear as it carried on the wind causing Elia's tears to spill.

"You sent for an escort, my dearest sister."

Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Oberyn is here!!!
> 
> Now since the story has overlapping timelines it might be a bit confusing as to how Oberyn got there so quickly. Keep in mind Oberyn has been sailing about a month. I looked up how long a seafaring ship would sail per day and how fast one would go. I found many resources pointed to an 8-12 hour sailing day and with good wind about 168 miles per hour. So from Volantis, assuming Oberyn and his cousin packed enough food for a month they could travel to Dragonstone in 12-14 days by sea. I made it closer to 21 days. I am going to headcanon if you have barrels worth of blessed water from the Rhoyne River the gods will give you a little extra help...just like they did for Nymeria all those centuries ago. 
> 
> Now I imagine many may not care to see my fan cast for some characters, but I thought it important to frame what they look like...these grown men traveling with a young girl on the brink of womanhood who are witnessing and participating in actions that go against their own ideologies. I can see this Lyanna who walks around without concern regarding how her family is reacting to her absence or how the consequences in the aftermath might not turn out the way she thinks or the way Rhaegar has promised her it would be. 
> 
>   
> **Prince Rhaegar Targaryen**  
>   
>  **Lady Lyanna Stark**  
>   
>  **Sers Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent**  
>   
>  **Lady Ashara Dayne**  
>   
>  **Ser Barristan Selmy**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am using writing this fanfic as a way to purge the intermittent blinding rage I feel when I read certain stories that try to do better by Elia but miss the mark.🙄🤣

Oberyn had always been close to his sister. He had always been affectionate towards her. She knew him in a way that not even his mother had. As she stood there hugging their cousin Leonidas tightly on the shores of Dragonstone, Oberyn could feel the invisible band that squeezed around his heart loosen just a bit. He was here, and she and the children were still alive.

"You are a blessed sight, Elia." Leo whispered in her hair. Oberyn, close enough to hear, felt himself nod in response. He swallowed deeply as the relief coursing through him made him feel unsettled.

"Not any more than you and my brother are to me. How did you know I'd be of need?"

Oberyn and Leo turned to each other. Leo's brow hiked in a silent question. Oberyn was now feeling confused and unsettled. Hadn't Elia received his message. Was everything they had experienced a farce? But then how could it if Leo and Manny had experienced the same thing as he.

"Elia, have you not received any..." Leo began, then paused.

"Unusual dreams as of late." Oberyn completed his cousin's thought.

Elia looked over to where her Ser Barristan was speaking with her uncle. They were a distance apart, but she leaned in and whispered to them so quietly.

"So, it's true. All that I have seen or felt—it's all true. It feels sane to know that I was not alone with these events. Seems you had your own as well."

Oberyn reached out for his sister's shoulder. "We have quite a tale for you, El, but first, we need to go. We must head home, and Leo heads to the Vale."

Elia's eyes widened.

"I know you have shared that there have been strange occurrences for you, but what is it that you know. Why the Vale? I think before we depart, you might need to know what I have seen."

Oberyn stares at his cousin as Leo nods subtly.

"Ser Barristan, Uncle. We will leave early on the morrow. My brother and cousin deserve a bed to rest after their long journey from the East."

Oberyn noticed how the Stormlander relaxed at his sister's announcement. He would watch out for this man. Perhaps a food illness might arise—unexpectedly.

"Very good, Princess." Ser Barristan replied. Her uncle nodding as his eyes sent a piercing stare in Oberyn's direction.

"Please send for your men." She looked at Oberyn and their cousin. "All are deserving of a warm meal not made on a ship." She continued.

Elia asked Ashara to see to the arrangements for the evening meal and warm water for the men to have a proper bath should they wish. Her children were asleep, and she had Katyrn settled them on her bed. Elia dismissed the wetnurse as a servant brought light refreshments for Elia's family.

Oberyn watched as his sister checked on her children before closing her door quietly. The men sat in her room's outer chamber on chairs and chaises that surrounded a warmly lit hearth. No completely convinced this wasn't a dream, Oberyn couldn't pull his gaze away from Elia as she walked towards them.

"I know. I can't believe we made it. We can save her—and them." Leo whispered quietly to Oberyn.

"We might not survive this, you know." The Red Viper softly replied, his eyes never leaving his sister's face.

"Maybe not, but I'd rather go down fighting for a reason I chose. Don't you?" His Uncle Lewyn chimed in as he cleared his throat. A subtle sign that this particular conversation between them was at an end—for now.

The younger men nodded in agreement.

Elia sat in the empty space in between him and Leo. Looking at them, she got to the core of their situation.

"I take it from our exchange on the beach that you have your own experience with the unexplainable."

Oberyn tilted his head as he tried to find the words to explain what happened to him. Knowing the importance, he found them and shared with Elia and their Uncle all that had occurred, with Leo's occasional help. He told them everything--from the old woman at the Rhoyne River to Leo and Manfrey's involvement, to the dream of their father, to their belief that the water was the cause of it all.

Watching his sister and uncle, their eyes widen, their heads shaking in dismay, the restrained tremble of Elia's lips.

Once he ended his story, Elia began with hers. She told them how she heard his voice in her dream. It prompted her to reach out to Doran in a letter that was delivered by Septa Lemore. Oberyn had to smile when he heard that. He was not surprised by the Septa's actions as she was family, if not by marriage, then by choice. She was their aunt in all but name.

Elia then began to tell them about seeing Rhaegar marrying the Stark girl in front of the Weirwood trees. Looking at his uncle, he could see the man was working diligently from losing his temper. It was a fight Oberyn didn't think he could win. Standing abruptly, Oberyn turned towards the hearth and willed the heat he felt rising in him to leech out and transport into the fire.

"I think he may have married her on the Isle of Faces...in the God's Eye. It is in the Riverlands, and it is one of the few places that can boast so many of these trees and still be South." Leo's voice was grave but firm.

"He married her. Truly, Elia, you saw this." Oberyn hated to ask, but he did, for even though he saw how things were supposed to end, there was a part of him that stalled in disbelief. Oberyn knew Elia loved her husband, and for a long time, Oberyn thought she found herself a love match as Rhaegar seemed so genuinely fond of his sister. Now he can't stomach the thought of the man coming near his sister after all he has done. Death was what the bastard deserved after Oberyn was done with him.

"Yes. I also can see where they are going." Her voice was barely audible.

"Dorne." Oberyn spoke just as softly.

"Dorne." She confirmed, and he bowed his head toward the heat of the mantle. His anger was reignited and at the precipice of violently erupting. The man was topping his level of outrageousness. He knows he is no saint, which is why he makes no societal commitments such as marriage, but Rhaegar did. He wasn't an oaf from the start. Perhaps if he was, then this wouldn't be so surprising—so hurtful. Oberyn wanted his pound of flesh, and only Rhaegar would do. The Stark girl was of little consequence for him. Society will consume her assuming she survives her fate, he thinks.

"Well, between your letter and Manfrey's arrival, Doran will be ready to act and intercept them. He will alert the Houses to look for them." Leo surmises.

"Manfrey is headed to Dorne. Bless the Mother." The warmth that had left Elia's voice was returning.

"Which one?" His uncle asked.

Elia laughs softly. "As of late, Mother means Mother Rhoyne. I haven't felt a connection to the New Gods in such a long time. Perhaps that is why they have forsaken me."

"I wouldn't worry too much about the New Gods. I think the Gods of the Rhoynar never left us. We were the ones who left them behind. Not out of malice, but in haste."

Walking toward the satchel he had brought with him from his ship, Oberyn pulls out a bottle and places it gently in Elia's hands.

"This is water from the Rhoyne. We have seen much when we've touched it. The old woman said in time we would know what to do with it."

Elia holds it carefully. Her eyes tracking the entire bottle. It is simply a bottle, but they all know it holds something more significant than it appears. Rising to gather a bowl from the table, Elia places it in front of her. She carefully opened the bottle as the cork stopper made a gentle _pop_ upon breaking the seal. Tilting it slowly, Elia gently poured a small amount of river water into the bowl before she sealed the bottle closed.

"If all you experienced is from a touch of the water source, I wonder what I would see if I touched it as well. I saw things here from the water on the island, and that is not of the river. What if I can see more?"

"Do you think you can?" Oberyn gambled.

"I don't know. I truly can't explain it, but the water—all water really, I find it calling to me. Does that make me sound mad?" Elia laughed nervously as her eyes dart furtively between the men before her.

Oberyn thought about his dream with his father how the man reached out to the Mother Rhoyne and their ancestors' Gods to save his sister whilst she was a babe. He thought about the Water Gardens and the moments the water behaved peculiarly when his sister was near. At that moment, Oberyn thought her rationale made the most logical sense.

The small woman before him took a deep breath, and she slowly released it before she dipped her forefinger into the bowl. Elia's body didn't seize like he had seen Leonidas or Manfrey react on the ship or how felt his own body respond in the river. Instead, she looked calm, serene, tranquil. What was noticeable was how the water began to travel up her hands and arms and how the trails of water seem to follow her veins' pattern. The water began to creep under the bodice of her dress but became present as the trails of water traveled up her neck, to the sides of her face, and around her temples.

Oberyn's uncle and cousin seemed astounded by the sight. Their expressions felt akin to his own.

"Elia..." Their uncle whispered, his tone laced in awe.

"I see so many things. Flashes of so much. It's hard to stop it. I am not sure I can. I can see what was and what is. I see Septa. She is in Dorne and safe. Doran knows as she has forwarded my letter and shared her own awareness."

Lewyn's trembled exhalation was very audible in such a quiet room.

"What else do you see, El? Dare I ask should I head to the Vale? Is it too late?"

Leo's question brought Oberyn's attention to him. He was curious about the circumstances. Elia was so quiet. Oberyn began to wonder if Elia had heard the question.

"I see Rhaegar and his party have left the Riverlands not so long ago. They travel the Prince's Pass. Perhaps a three, maybe four days, ride from the tower. Lord Brandon had a faster journey to Kings Landing as he didn't travel as far eastward towards the God's Eye. You were right. They were on the Isle of Faces."

Oberyn turned once again to the hearth. It hurt to hear how small his sister's voice sounded like. Small and lost. Damn that man.

"The king has imprisoned Lord Brandon for treasonous accusations towards Rhaegar. He claims Rhaegar abducted his sister and demands her return. The king is in a rage. He threw Lord Brandon and his party into the Black Cells. Oh, Mother! Nothing has changed for them. He will die as will his father, and war will come."

Elia's voice broke on a sob. All remained silent. Oberyn's mind couldn't stop pacing. Could they stop it? Was it too late? Were they still fated for war? Oberyn saw his daughters and wondered with this change of the past did he forfeit his own life for his sisters—would he die and lose the chance of seeing his daughters grow into the women they were meant to be. Sure they could return to Dorne, but if war ensues then it will be only a matter of time before the war will knock at their door. Is it not the duty of his brother to save as many Dornish lives as possible so that other fathers can live to see their children grow? They won't be able to ignore the consequences. 

"I can see him yelling at Pycelle to send a raven to Lord Stark to come to answer for his son. Lord Stark has received the raven and he is on his way. I think all is lost."

"Perhaps not." Lewyn murmured, his back hunched as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, hands clasped and draped between his legs.

The water began to recede away from Elia and back into the bowl, but to his eyes, Oberyn thought the bowl was filled with less water—much less water. Gods, where did it go? There didn't seem to be any signs of wetness on Elia's clothing or below her on the ground. 

Elia opened her eyes, and they seemed clear but sad.

"What do you mean, Uncle?" Oberyn encouraged Lewyn to continue his thought.

"If we leave in the early morning, Leo, you can cut Lord Stark off. If you sailed to the Saltpans, you could ride to the Crossroad Inn. I have no doubt Lord Stark will stop, if not for a night, then at least a meal. Could he make it, Elia? Would Leo have enough time?"

All eyes turned to the young Dornish woman.

"You could. He is about a sennight away from the inn. Give or take a day or so. He may listen to you and be diverted." Elia speculated. She seemed unsure, and Oberyn could not blame her. To have a certain degree of sight but no assurances as to the fallout of suppositions.

"But if he does not answer the King's call..." Oberyn ruminated. "He will kill Brandon Stark."

"Not if I release him." Lewyn's sigh seemed so much louder than it was. The room silent.

"NO!" Elia's was so forceful that the men jolted where they stood.

"I agree, Uncle. No Stark is worth our loss. Not like this. If we die, let it be in war, but not in saving the brother of the woman who played a part in the circumstances we all find ourselves in."

"I must agree with them, Prince Lewyn. It is a risk. If you are caught, the King will call for your head trying you for treason. It will be your death with no guarantee that you've prevented war or saved the condemned."

"If I can get them out and you can divert Lord Stark—"

"Then what? The King will still be calling for blood. Do we give him Rhaegar?" Oberyn sharing his thoughts as it all seemed like each idea stood like random puzzle pieces scattered about.

Elia's tilts her head as her eyes take on this narrowed expression.

"If you were successful Uncle, then the King would be beyond livid. He has been more and more unseemly since Duskendale. To be at the Red Keep is overwhelmingly frightful most days. Rhaegar brought us back to Dragonstone because of how bad it is with that man. The loss of Brandon Stark and his other noble prisoners would send him over the edge. Of that, I have no doubt."

"I agree with my niece. If I do this, you know what will happen."

Oberyn and Leo looked at each other. They turned their gaze back on the ones closest to the politics in Kings Landing—Elia and Lewyn.

"It will enrage him, and Aerys will demand Brandon Stark's head, those of his party, and any and all who harbor him. The man is predictable in his decline." Elia posited as she rose to stand beside Oberyn. She crouches down—her own eyes on the fire.

"How would you do it?" Elia murmured. Oberyn wanted to press his dissent, but he kept quiet much against his better nature.

"I have a friend, a smuggler that I know. He's very good at what he does, and I trust him. He can take us wherever we want to go sight unseen—the men hidden in plain sight. As for getting in, there is a secret entrance known only to members of the Kingsguard. The only ones in the Red Keep are Ser Gerold, Ser Jonothor, and Ser Jaime. I doubt they would show their hand as dissenters to the King."

Lewyn stood up and walked towards Elia. The older man reaching out for her and pulling her to stand before him. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

"The entrance takes me through the tunnels below the keep. There is a door that goes directly to the cells. The Black Cells are seldom watched for where are these prisoners to go. We can use that hubris to our advantage. There is a guard nearby when they are fed, and that is early in the morning before the sun rises. I can be in and out before they are noticed to be gone. I know there is danger, niece, but I am not fearful of carrying out this charge. I may not be the most devout of Kingsguard, but on those oaths, I believe...I follow."

Oberyn averted his eyes as he saw tears spring into his sister's eyes. She bowed her head. Her head resting against their uncle's heart. The older man held her lovingly against him as he pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. 

"You are my princess, and for you and yours, I would lay down my life without reservation."

There was a somber air filling the room. They remain in that stifling silence with neither party drawing attention to themselves.

Lewyn was first to break the quietness.

"What say you, Elia?"

Elia pulled away and reached for their uncle's hand, her eyes making contact with each man. With a determined nod, she continued.

"Leo should go to Lord Stark and you to the Red Keep. If you can get the men and then take them to Dorne. If you think you will not be successful in your efforts, then stop and come home."

They all looked to each other, and one by one, they shared a nod of agreement. A secret part of Oberyn silently prays to the Mother Rhoyne that the man who was much like a second father to him and the man who was another brother would not lose their lives on this journey. It's funny how hope wars with acceptance even when one is a man, and childish ideas have been put aside.

"On an eve such as this, let us enjoy each other's company on this night, for we are not guaranteed another." Elia declared. Her voice once again warm, gracious, and strong. She sounded so much like their mother, he mused, like the ruler she was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Which Stark is going to survive? Will they both? Will Lewyn or Leo survive their mission?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
> 
> Warning...the beginning might be a little emotional. This isn't a long chapter, but it is important.

Elia expelled a warm breath as soon as she felt the anchor lift, and the ship began to move.

She was off the island, her brother was here, and she was headed for Dorne.

No matter if they were not successful in warding of Lord Stark or saving Lord Brandon, Elia trusted she and her family would be safe. If need be, let them fight amongst themselves for the rest of Westeros cares little for Dorne, and after they destroy themselves, should they come by land or by sea, let the Dornish again remind them why they were never conquered. The desert sands will have their bounty from trespassers in the form of life. Yes, let them come and learn, Elia had thought.

"You seem very quiet, Elia. I thought you would be happier than this."

Elia turned a warm smile on her oldest friend. Ashara was a good woman. She knows much was said about her and a certain Stark, but Elia knew the truth. Rumors aside, Ashara stands proud though her heart still aches for a certain man from the North. There had been talk that she had left to birth a bastard babe in Dorne, but that wasn't why the Dayne had sojourned home. No, she had left because she was heartbroken and could not find any solace to express her grief under the watchful eyes of Kings Landing. When she had learned Elia was with child, Ashara returned to her side without Elia needing to ask. She loved this woman in a way that reached to the depths of her soul. Ashara was the sister of her heart, and rarely would you find one without the other. Elia was glad to be going home, but until she was firmly on Dornish lands, she would keep her secrets to herself.

"I am, dear girl, I was thinking about Ser Barristan. He seemed so healthy yesterday and to find him ill this morn was a disappointment. I am glad he decided to persevere through to join us on this journey." Elia was proud of how she kept the laughter she felt out of her voice. Oh, Oberyn, she thought.

"Oddest thing wasn't it. Hopefully, the maester's suggestion of a couple of days rest would see him on the mend and granted he has chosen to rest on the boat, I must admit the swaying of the ship might do more harm than good." Ashara tsked as she returned to the book she had been reading.

"You're probably right. Would you mind if I left you for a bit? I would like to spend some time with my brother, and as I have him on this ship for the next sennight, I might be able to get his full attention for once."

The violet-eyed woman's eyes never left the page she had been reading, but her lips rose in a familiar smirk. "I don't know about that. Some of the men on this ship seemed awfully lovely to look at. Don't be surprised if Ryn is indisposed."

Elia threw her head back and laughed. That statement would be true in another time, but Elia knows were Oberyn's thought laid, and they were not carnal in nature. No, he was the Red Viper, and like his moniker, he was focused, poised, and ready to strike.

Stepping quietly out of the cabin, Elia made her way silently past the room where she could hear her daughter voice singing along as Katryn sang a lullaby to her children and Katryn's daughter, who was on the journey as well. Elia was not blind to how her world worked when it came to wetnurses and privilege. Still, as a mother herself, she wasn't calloused enough to pull them away from each other, especially when Elia didn't know if and when Katryn and her daughter could be reunited.

How could she work to save her own children while leaving the child of the woman who cares for Elia's children behind to an uncertain fate with relatives? This woman trusts Elia, and she is operating on that set belief. If something happened to that lovely babe, Elia would not be able to live with herself.

As she cleared the children's room, she took extra caution when passing Ser Barristan's room as her brother's chambers were to the end of the ship before the step upward began. Elia nearly jumped out of her skin when her brother popped his head out of his room and spoke—quite loudly.

"He won't be waking anytime soon."

"Oberyn!" Elia squeaked.

"What! I might have slipped him something to help him sleep better."

"Better or indefinitely?" Elia snarked as she walked past her brother and into his chamber.

"Better, though I could work on the latter should you so desire."

Elia smacked her brother on the arm, knowing she hadn't made a dent in the man—solid her brother was.

"Stop. I may find the man a highly overbearing and perhaps pious in his chivalry with devout fanaticism, but he does try to live the oath he had sworn. So, unless we discover otherwise, you cannot dispose of my Kingsguard."

Oberyn's loud sigh was not lost on her. "Very well, if you insist, but I will keep an eye on him."

"I would expect nothing less, Brother." She arched a brow at her wayward brother.

Expectations and duty aside, she was ever grateful that they had never lost their closeness. Perhaps there were closer than was appropriate. Not in the carnal sense, no. That was a Targaryen trait she was happy to know hadn't been passed on from her Valyrian ancestor.

Elia had always confided in Oberyn. She never had to choose what to share and what to hold close. In truth, she never felt he had done that with her. They know each other so well, and it is with that awareness she knows her brother has chosen to be circumspect in not asking her how she feels about Rhaegar. She knows that the time has come to open that conversation for her coming alone was her taking the first step to alert Oberyn that she was ready to speak.

Taking a seat at the small table in the chambers, Elia released a deep breath. The sound of the air expelling as it trembled out of her helped her to center her emotions. She watched as her brother brought a flask of wine and two cups. He pours them a healthy amount before he sat down on the floor right beside her feet. Elia felt a wave of feelings flood through her. A simple gesture, but the situation was anything but simple. It was messy, confusing, and hurtful. The tears sprang forth though no sound accompanied them.

"El...please speak to me, Sister."

Shaking her head not in denial but rather because she was feeling overwhelmed.

"When he rode past me and crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty, I had told myself that the crown could go to anyone. It didn't really mean anything, and I was silly to be hurt by it when I had him. Then from that moment on, he began to feel less like mine."

Elia paused to take a sip, but the only flavor she tasted was the salt of her tears that had slipped down her face and over lips.

"I tried to be supportive, understanding, to be dutiful because I thought that is what he needed me to be, but in doing so, I pushed so much of myself aside, and it was all in vain. In the end, he hadn't just crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty...no, he crowned _HIS_ Queen."

She sat sightless as the tears blurred everything until her brother was a shadowy outline on the ground.

"He spoke of his prophecies, and I thought there might be truth to them, so I willingly chose to have Aegon, and I do not regret him though it almost killed me. Yet when the maester told him that I could not have another, he completed disengaged from me, and I don't know what I did to deserve that."

When the sob came, it was ugly, ragged, and weighed more than Elia could bare. Her body shook as she fell forward, crying into her dress. She couldn't stop the tears. They were unstoppable. The force of her crying had her body jolting. Elia doesn't know if she had been crying for minutes or hours, but what she does remember was her brother's gentle hands on the top of her head, and he touched his crown to hers. His whispered voice as he apologized for devastation on her person that was not his to atone for. Gently he pried her from the chair onto his lap, Oberyn held her as Elia wrapped her arms around her little brother who was so much bigger than her, and wept until the tears had wrenched themselves from her body to be no more.

"He made me believe he loved me. He made me believe that his feelings for me were fond enough that he would never act in a way that would injure my body or my heart. Rhaegar told me he wasn't going for Lyanna and that he wouldn't shame me, and I was so in my head by detecting his lie that I hadn't truly understood what he said before he departed."

Oberyn turned his head, his somber voice gently whispering, "What did he say?"

Taking a deep breath that rattled against her, Elia noted her tears may have stopped her feelings are still hurting. Her head had fallen on her brother's shoulder long ago, she toyed with a ring on her finger as she recalled her faithless husband's final words before leaving Dragonstone.

"His last words to me were _"You were the best of wives to me, and no one could ever take that away from you--from us."_ I was so focused on his blatant lie that I missed the _tense in the statement—the "were"_. He has shamed me in such a way. All of it is too much. Rhaegar married her, and regardless if his intent is to have two wives or to cast me aside, I find I cannot tolerate either outcome."

"Nor should you, Sister." Elia heard the change in her brother's voice as it went from somber to angered. He was calm, but she could feel the heat of his fury rattling like some desert snakes. She patted his hand with her own not to quell his rage, but to empathize with it.

"I will not condone his actions by bestowing grace or forgiveness. My heart feels dark, Obe, so very dark. I feel a reckoning is to come, and instead of fearing it, I feel my soul is racing towards it—to a final release, and may the Gods have mercy on those caught in the deluge.

Silence reigned between them. Elia did not fear her brother's reaction to her confession. This man was one she had known since the cradle, he was listening, thinking, and when he was ready, he would share his thoughts. Many assume that Oberyn is always rash, and she will not deny he has such tendencies, but her brother feels deeply. He had deep thoughts, and she had learned years ago to give him space to collect them.

"Well, if a flood is coming, who better to bring it than a daughter of the Rhoynar."

Black eyes gazed into black eyes, and an unspoken understanding was shared. Yes, a reckoning was coming, and the consequences were unknown, but the spirit of what would remain would be unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.

*****

Doran was sitting in the garden, drinking a glass of blood orange tea as he watched his cousin sit before him. He thought it a good sign when he heard that Manfrey's ship had arrived. His younger cousin made fast time to see him and share news of his travels.

When he heard Manfrey speak the words _"Ryn has gone to Elia"_ , Doran felt his heart burst with a sense of hope.

It has been a day shy of a fortnight since the younger Martell had returned. They shared much such as the recent arrival of Ellaria Sand to the tower. As per the raven they received about a sennight ago, his siblings should be arriving with a day or so.

"It will be good to have them home. Elia safe. Oberyn—well, his daughters do miss him."

Manfrey turned his head as he released a deep chuckle.

"Well, they do?" Doran insisted.

Turning to look at him, a sparkle in his eyes—a quality he always associated with the man, Manfrey remained silent as he licked his lips. Hmmm, perhaps to keep his true thoughts to himself, Doran thought.

"And you don't?" The cousins stared at each other, and when Manfrey hiked a brow, Doran found he couldn't keep the smirk that wanted to lift the corner of his mouth.

"Hmmm, perhaps."

Manfrey's wild laughter made Doran smile though he hid the expression behind another sip of tea.

"My Prince, My Prince!"

Doran and Manfrey turned to see the maester, a typically calm and somewhat dour old man, racing down the garden path as though the stranger was at his heels. Areo Hotah and another guard went immediately into a defensive stance.

Waving the maester through, the man nearly dropped to the ground before them.

"My Prince it news from the King." The maester kept shaking his head. He was clearly upset, and Doran had a feeling he was going to learn the reason why very quickly.

Extending his hand, the scroll was placed carefully into his palm, his long fingers curling to hold the object. Doran carefully unraveled the message. He had read it, but for a moment he thought his mind was having a jape. Looking up at the maester, Doran's gaze unreadable of that he was sure.

"What is it, cousin?" The laughter that moments ago could be heard in his cousin's voice had vanished.

Doran's gaze went to the letter once again. His eyes tracking each word and confirming to himself that what he had read was true.

"Doran? Does he know about Elia?" Manfrey's whispered, a trace of fear threaded in his voice.

Tearing his gaze away from the parchment, Doran turned to his cousin. Manfrey had always been protective of Elia. Perhaps if the young man had been bolder several years ago, then Elia would not have married the man she had.

"It seems Lord Brandon Stark was being held by the Crown for treason against the Crown Prince."

Manfrey lowered his head. They had spoken about the water, and he knew what Manfrey had seen. His own mind going to the same place he was sure. However, there was something different about this instant, as well as something that didn't align quite to his cousin's recollection.

"So, it has begun."

"Indeed, it seems. There is more to the missive." Doran sighed.

"What else is there?" Dark eyes, much like his own, stared back at him.

"It appears the young lord and his companions have somehow found escape from the Red Keep." Doran watched as Manfrey's eyes widened. "The king has decreed any and all who assisted or harbors them will face an eternity in the black cells."

Trying to make sense of these turn of events, he shares the last of the king's decree.

"Let it be known that if Brandon Stark is not returned to him, then he will demand the heads of Rickard and Ned Stark as payment for Brandon Stark's treasonous acts.

Doran could not blame Manfrey for slowly losing the sun-kissed color traditionally associated with him as the Prince of Dorne shared the final content of the letter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am just playing with them. 
> 
> FYI, we have a small time jump.

Elia's safe arrival to Dorne was met with the fanfare expected of a favorite daughter who returned home. It was as one would have anticipated once the initial shock ran its course through the inhabitants of Sunspear. All that resided in the capital of Dorne learned of the secret return of their beloved princess. She appears on the heels of news sent by her good-father.

The princess knew it was her brother Doran who had to inform their countrymen of the King's decree and sent his own message to their people. They were not to engage with the wishes of the King. The Lords and Ladies of Dorne, and by the nature of their stations, the people they ruled and cared for were to wait on word from their Prince. He reminded them that Dorne may have chosen to be part of the Seven Kingdom, Dorne will always be free to choose its fate.

It has been a sennight since she stepped off the ship, and not nary a dream or apparition for her or her brothers. All she knew of her Uncle Lewyn's success was from the letter Doran showed her from the King. As for Leonidas's fate and thereby the fate of Lord Stark, she knew nothing. Elia did not understand what had prompted this loss of sight. What had she done wrong?

Unable to sleep, Elia looked to the left side of her bed, where her daughter's dark curls rested in a web-like pattern across the pillow. Her shining eyes close for the night as her small lip moved as though she were carrying on a silent conversation with another. Turning to her side, Elia sat up a bit as she rested her head on her hand while she lifted the light sheet to cover her daughter better.

Elia marveled at this child and wondered what she saw as her eyes were once again drawn to her daughter's moving lips. Whatever the conversation was, it must have been good for her daughter's lips trades silent speech for a wide smile, followed by a small laugh. The mother in her couldn't stop the pull of her own lip as they wove into a smile across her face.

_I could have lost this. I could have lost her._

Elia's mind went to a cooler and darker place. She pictured her daughter's shining eyes closed forever. The violence she would have experienced at the hands of a man who cared naught that she is not much older than a babe. All because of a choice the men in her Targaryen family, the grandfather and father, who were to protect her, placed her in the greatest harm as though she was not of any importance. Warm tears sprang forth before she could control them. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around the legs as she willed herself to take steadying breaths.

_She is important to me. I swear to the Mother Rhoyne I will do all I can to ensure you never suffer in such a fashion._

Rubbing her hands over her face, Elia thinks a late-night walk in the gardens might help her sleep. She quickly trades a sleeping shift for a simple Dornish dress fit enough for the task she plans to undertake. Elia takes one more look at her daughter's sleeping figure before she carefully opens the door. Ser Barristan is keeping a post at her children's door. His eyes trained on the entrance of hers as both chambers are across from each other. Seems the good knight made a remarkable recovery a day before they landed in Dorne.

"My Princess." The man stood even more at attention. Elia had not thought it possible. She sent the make a gesture of acknowledgment.

"Ser Barristan. I leave my children in your capable hands. The night is calling to me, such a rarity it is that the weather is perfect for a late-night stroll through the gardens."

The man had a look of hesitation on his face, but he kept his words behind his teeth. She thought to reassure him for the sooner she does, the sooner she can be on her way.

"Do not fear, Ser, for we are in the safest place to be. The guards of the Keep I trust to keep me and mine safe, as should you."

The man looked at her for a moment before he gestured in understanding.

"Yes, Princess, of course. I will remain here. Enjoy your walk, Princess Elia."

"I shall endeavor too, Ser."

Turning from the man, Elia walked towards her favorite walking path. Sunspear was blessed with man outdoor paths that offered lovely views of its architecture. How the structure combined the practicality of shelter and beauty of nature. She had loved Sunspear because it was where her family seat was located, but it was the Water Gardens she had loved the most.

As her mind retreated to her favorite pool, the one that had an odd cold spot that no one could ever find but her. In the heat, the pools had a cooling effect, but nothing felt like that cold spot. Elia felt her lips curve into a smile when she began to recall a memory of youth. Her friends begged her to find the spot for all needed an icy chill on that blistering day. Once she had, they hadn't stayed in the spot for long. One by one, they swam away, first Ashara, then Leo followed by Arthur. Oberyn's attempt was impressive, but even he had to swim towards warmer waters.

It was Manfrey who had lasted the longest. He just trod the water and smiled at her. Elia recalled how curled his hair had become in the water and how it clung to his black locks. She remembered how his eyes were so quiet and thoughtful as they stared at her. It wasn't until she noticed his lips twisting into a shy smile that she saw how blue they had become, but it seemed not to bother him in the least.

 _"I'd never leave you to tread water by yourself, El. I'll always be near, sweet girl."_ His boyish voice carried.

No, Manfrey never had in all the years they visited the pools. He was always by her side, and she took comfort in that. They were so close until they weren't until she had left to marry Rhaegar. Elia released a shaky breath. How she missed her cousin? When she left, her mother said the lack of correspondence from him was his consideration of the change in her station. Then Ashara told her that Manfrey was a man grown and had his own commitments to secure as befitting his position. That awareness had saddened Elia then as much as it pained her now.

"No matter now," she said aloud as she remembered how her heart swelled at the sight of him at the harbor.

"What is of no matter?"

Elia released a squeal that sent six house guards to step away from their posts. Hands clutching her chest, she sent a glare she was sure would send her eldest brother to his death. The older man waved them away.

"You scared the Stranger into existence, you horrible man. Why do you skulk?" Elia admonished her brother as she glared at him.

"It's not considered skulking when one walks the grounds of their home." Doran began to walk the path, his tone seemed unaffected, but Elia could hear the humor behind his words.

Seems like it doesn't matter if a brother is much older such as Doran, or close in age to Oberyn. It appears they still take much satisfaction in teasing their sister regardless if they are men and women grown.

"Semantics, brother mine." Elia turned to fall into step with her sibling.

"Hmmm...is it? Does my meaning trump yours as this is actually my house?"

"As I am the Crown Princess..." Elia's voice faltered. She turned away as doubt began to resurface. Was she still the Crown Princess? Who was she really?

"Elia?"

Breathing deeply, she shook her head to clear her thoughts before responding to the concerned gaze her brother directed at her.

"Am I? Am I still the Crown Princess, and does it even matter? I mean, with all we know, does it matter anymore?"

Her brother's large hand rested gently on her shoulders as he turned her towards him. What a sight she must have made? She was feeling raw tonight, and all those emotions were right under the surface of her best façade. Her eyes could no longer see her brother clearly as another bout of tears layered over her sight.

"I'm sorry. I am foolish. I know..."

"No, Elia, you are what you need to be. You, my sister, have a hard road ahead of you, yes, but that does not mean you must not feel all that is happening to you now. I know you loved your husband, and that love you bear him is real and true for you. It matters not if he feels or felt the same. You are entitled to mourn what is lost, and even if the realm survives this and he becomes King, you and he can never be as it once was again. So, with that, I say mourn that, my sister. Grieve it, but do not stay lost in the damage for too long. For even a sunray trapped behind, the clouds will once again shine as it is meant to. Do not forget who you are, Elia?"

"Sunray..." She whispered. Her lips trembled upon saying the name her parents had for her. Elia did not pull away as her brother held her as she quietly wept into his tunic. She cried not for Rhaegar or her marriage's loss, not the way she had with Oberyn on the ship. No, Elia cried because she was reminded of who she was by her brother by the people who loved and knew her best.

Pulling away with a breathless laugh, Elia looked her at her brother. He was a good man. She knew matters between him and his wife were of late—strained, and while not a perfect man, she knew at his core, he tried to be a fair man.

They walk in companionable silence until Doran's disturbed it.

"You never answered my question. What is of no matter?"

Elia thought about deflecting but then realized she had no reason to. She hadn't thought unseemly thoughts. All she had done was realize she had missed her cousin, and there was no shame in that. The awareness came from a true place, and not one she has the right to cheapen by assigning ill-thoughts.

"I was thinking of the Water Gardens and the fun I used to have—we all had as children. I remembered my favorite pool—"

"Ah, yes, the one with the hard to find cold spot."

Elia laughed as it felt good to share something so simple with someone who understands, someone who understands her.

"Yes. I recalled how the only person who ever stayed in that spot with me was Manfrey. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him since I left. I missed home so much, Doran. Even with making peace with my lot and choosing to love my husband—I missed this place like you couldn't imagine."

Doran nodded, his gaze revealing nothing of note.

"Men are lucky in that they don't have to leave their homeland when they are of age. They can choose to, and that isn't the same as what a woman can look forward to. Women aren't always so blessed. At best, when she leaves the home of her birth to reside in her husband's house, it is at least within the same region, and at worst, she leaves her homeland altogether for the unknown. There is no guarantee that she will be safe and happy. Regardless she does not pick her fate."

"I suppose I know this, but I hadn't really known what that entailed until you left."

"But, Mallario?"

"If I am honest, I hadn't really considered it then. I knew because she was here and not in Norvos, but there are things we don't see that make our home what it is until it's no longer there. I didn't know what that was for her, and until you left, I hadn't considered how her departure affected her father's household. We were different without you too, Elia."

They had walked to a wonderful vantage point of the capital, but in the darkness, all Elia could see were the fires that lit the path which leads down into the city. Once again, she remembered how much she missed the Water Gardens as she imagined what was happening down below.

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia seek and you shall see._

Elia froze as a voice whispered those words into her ear.

"I..." She tried to speak but found the words difficult to find.

"Elia, what is wrong?" Doran's gaze was full of concern.

"Your eyes, Sister..." His voice trailed away.

"I need the water. I need to find the water."

Elia barely heard her brother tell a guard to bring Oberyn to them. She felt herself slowly slide down a nearby column. The grass below her felt like the thin whispered blades her young niece, Nym, loved to speak about when she managed to get Elia to herself. The ground felt cool to the parts of her hands and legs that touched it. 

She could not hear her brother any longer. His voice was just a distorted panicky sound. There were other voices she heard much clearly. Her eyes grew heavy. Elia thought to close them for one moment. She was falling. Yes, this was the feeling of falling. Her head was on the ground, and all around her silhouette, the ground felt extremely cool to the touch, almost as if she were laying in a small puddle of water.

Elia wasn't in Dorne anymore. She was on a ship—a smugglers ship. There were only a few men on it. The boat was close to the coast of the Red Keep. The fires were out, and the men worked in darkness. She walked past the men, and none seemed to notice her. This felt very reminiscent of her time on the Isle of Face. She must be about to witness something of importance, she thought.

She walked to the front of the ship and looked up at the moon. She saw that the moonlight hit the water in such a way that it afforded her enough sight to see a small rowboat moving in her direction. Elia watched as a man threw a roped ladder down the side of the ship. An unfamiliar man climbed onto the deck, but Elia noticed how the men on the ship deferred to him. He was someone of importance to them. A boy rose up next, well a boy old enough to squire though he might call himself a man.

A man lowered another large knotted rope as several men, including the young one, began to pull. She was unsure why but her answer came in the form of a man dangling from the other end of the rope. To Elia's horror, the man looked to be brutally battered and in need of a maester.

_"We have him. Send down the next rope." The group's leader whispered._

Two men carried the young man down below the deck. The quiet grunting alerted Elia to the crew, working to lift up another man. Once the man's head cleared the ship's side, Elia released a cry when she saw how bruised and beaten this man looked. He was a good-looking man—once. She wondered in her horror if he would be once again. Then she wondered if the man was alive.

This time one young man climbed onto the boat, and with a crew member, they too took the young man down below.

By now, Elia knew who these men were and where she was now. She held her breath as she waited for her Uncle Lewyn to climb aboard—hopefully with Brandon Stark in tow. However, when the men sent the rope down once again, she found herself beginning to pray that the man on the other end wasn't her uncle. It felt like time stayed still, and Elia's mind ran torturous laps until she saw the paleness of the man's unrecognizable face. She couldn't turn her gaze away, but rather she found herself walking towards him.

Crouching down, Elia recognized the tears in her eyes as tears of anger—anger for this man to be damage so brutally all for demanding what was his to demand. The return of his sister. As if she needed confirmation, a sliver of lid opened only for her to see the famed Stark eyes gazing at her. Yes, Elia was staring into the battered face of Brandon Stark.

A slight commotion pulled Elia's attention away from the heir of Winterfell. Her uncle had climbed up after the Stark, and with a crew member, lifted the man before her taking him downstairs as well. Boat hoisted to ship; they began to move as the anchor freed them from their stationary position.

Elia ran down below deck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the men change the sail from a simple white to the famed purple sails of a Braavosi trading ship—a clever tactic for who would stop a Braavosi trading ship on these seas. No one would. Not even a Greyjoy.

The men were speaking, well those who were well enough to do so.

 _"I'll be honest, Lewyn. I am not sure two of these men will make it to Dorne. Hell, they might not survive us getting out of the Bay. I have man..."_ The Captain nodded in the direction of a man who was looking over a blonde man. _"...while good, there is only so much he can do."_

Her uncle looked gravely towards the young men. He rested a large hand on his companion's shoulder. _"All I can ask is that he does his best. Now Seaworth get us to Dorne."_

The seafarer nodded and climbed the stairs leaving them alone.

_"Do you think we'll make it, Ser Lewyn." One of the young men asked._

_"Davos is one of the best smugglers I know, Mallister. If anyone could get us to Dorne without notice, I trust it to be him."_

_"Why, Dorne? Why not take us North?"_ The young man with a thick Northern brogue remarked. His eyes seeming brave and scared. Naught but a boy, Elia thought once again, and this anger just began to pull at her. Would he have died too? Yes, in time, he would have died for Rhaegar's cause and Aerys's madness.

_"When they noticed you're gone in which direction do you think the King will send his hounds? He will not expect you to go South, and he most definitely won't think to look for you in Dorne. You will be safe there until we can get word to your families."_

Elia sat in the corner of the room as she feels the vibration of the ship as it sails. It felt as though the waves were carrying the ship with the fastest speed she had ever experienced. Not even her recent voyage to Dorne felt this swift. She watched as the men remained quiet and alert as the crewman worked around their battered party.

The old smuggler subtly caught her uncle's attention. Elia followed them as they walked behind the stairs.

_"I gotta say, Ser. The one wearing the sigil with black circles and odd writing, he needs rest, but he should pull through. I worry about the other two the most. The falcon, I worry that infection will set in the arm and the leg. They are broken, and the cuts are deep—nasty things. Infection is looking like its setting in, and I have limited supply for matters like this. The wolf, well, he isn't taking in air properly. A rib or two are broken, me think. He, too, has some deep stabs in his leg and shoulder, but the worst is his gut. Most men don't come back from something like that."_

Elia leaned towards the post behind her. They were too late. What had Aerys done? While it is lunacy to question the sanity in madness but she couldn't help but wonder if Aerys had wanted war for the sake of wanting war. Why would he do this? Imprison yes, that could be rationed as a King's prerogative, but this...no, they are supposed to be a civilized society were they not.

 _"Like I told Seaworth, just do what you can. You men will be handsomely rewarded either way."_ The Prince looked tired, Elia thought. Her uncle seemed to age before her or had always been this way, but took great pains to hide how this life drains him.

The other man nodded. _"And if I have to choose? Do you have a preference?"_

Elia thought about the man's question even though he had asked it of her uncle. She considered the potential outcomes for these men and how the waves of either life or death would trickle and change the course of what was to come.

"Save the Wolf." Elia found herself whispering to herself.

 _"Save the Wolf."_ Her uncle directed the man. Exhaustion is embedded into each word and tone.

_“Aye.”_

The man returned to his patients, and her uncle stared at the scene before him through the space between the stairs.

_"I do not know if you can hear this, Mother Rhoyne. I do not know how this all works, but then I beg you to let my kin know what has befallen this venture if we are on the right path. I do not know if they will survive, but if they do, they will need Sunspear to be ready for them."_

Elia heard her uncle's plea, and it seems the Mother heard her uncle's prayer for this must be why she is here. She had to return. There was much to do and very little time. Her awareness returned like a creature who breaches the water to take a breath. Opening her eyes, she can see her both her brother's kneeling on either side of her. They both take turns telling her to rise slowly.

"Please stop fretting. I am fine, but we haven't much time."

"What is wrong?" Oberyn's hand cradled her face to pull her direction towards him. His gaze was fierce and intense.

Wetting her lips, Elia began her tale.

"When do you think they will arrive?" Doran's hand squeeze her own, and she felt his strength just as acutely as she could sense her younger brother's.

"We have a day or two at most."

"How can you be sure?"

Doran began to answer Oberyn's question.

"Well, to start, we had already received a raven from the King a day before you returned regarding Brandon Stark and his party."

"And the moon. The moon is how I know." Elia could no longer sit and began to slowly rise. "When I was on their ship, I was drawn to the moon as the moonlight seemed almost limited, intentional. It was a third-quarter moon. We are now in the first-quarter moon. The journey from Kings Landing to Sunspear would take little more than a fortnight."

"I will gather our maesters and send a request to the high priestess of the Greenblood for additional healers. We will be ready as some of the best is already here for me." Doran brought voice to a topic he generally does not speak freely of—his own delicate health.

"Might I suggest it best you refrain, allowing anyone to come here? I will gladly take the blame for the loss. Say I had been trying a new poison and hadn't anticipated this kind of damage." Oberyn supplied as his eyes swept around Elia.

Confused by the swift change in topic, Elia eyes widened in horror as she looked at the grass she had laid on and the surrounding shrubbery of sundazes. What was once a healthy plot of green grass surrounded by sundazes in full bloom stood death—the grass now brown and the flowers wilted as though all their life's sustenance had disappeared. 

"Did I do this?" She asked but truly didn't require her brothers to confirm what she knew down to the core of her.

"Yes. It was quite the sight, Sister. There were these lines of water that seemed to travel up your skin. The water appeared to have come from the ground." Doran's firm hand reached out to squeeze her own. His voice was gentle as if he were afraid to frighten her. Elia appreciated the gesture, but it was unnecessary, for she was made of a stronger will. 

Not sure why she felt a desperate powerful draw to the water, Elia saw the Water Gardens once again. She saw herself and Manfrey laughing in her favorite pool. She could hear the voice again, and Elia understood what it truly was asking her to do—

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia seek and you shall see._

Yes, she would find the water, but first, she needed to ready herself for their guest's arrival.

It appeared as though the Martell's of Dorne would not be granted the grace of two days as a ship bearing a purple Braavosi trader sail arrived the next day just as the sun slipped behind the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. Lewyn got Brandon and his companions out of the Red Keep, but there are complications. I have it in my head that these men were beaten and abused when it was clear they were being sent to the cells. It isn't a far jump to consider men like Clegane and Trent existed way before they did in canon. Violent sadistic people always existed. I could see Brandon and Elbert putting up a good fight and getting the worst of it and Kyle fighting just as hard for his liege lord's heir (Arryn) and his distant family member (Stark).
> 
> In the next chapter, we see how Leonidas progressed and get a small peek into the Tower.
> 
> Until then...enjoy


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. 
> 
> I am not thrilled with this chapter, but I think it's good enough for me to stand behind. Enjoy!

It took Elia less than two days to move her small household to the Water Gardens. While the Martell's tended to use the gardens as an excursion done within a day, they had built sleeping chambers at one point. Though seldom used, Elia was to make use of them during her time in Dorne. Her ambition to arrive as soon as she could came partly from her instinct that the water in the pools held more truths for her and her haste to get Ser Barristan away from the potential discovery of uncle and of their newest guests. The Kingsguard thought nothing amiss in her desire to leave quickly as her reason for leaving Dragonstone was to heal and where better to do so than the famed gardens.

Elia did her best not to disclose her true feelings. She was scared. It was the kind of dread that made taking a breath a hardship for fear that you would fall and crumble into dust—ceasing to exist. Unable to move forward or back forevermore still. The men made it to Dorne, but fates of both the North and the Eyrie's heirs were precarious. Doran's healers had been sequestered with these men in an isolated wing of the compound reserved for visiting guests. After that first night, Elia made it a point to ensure Ser Barristan watched her children sleep before she went to inquire about their prognosis.

Yes, being at the Water Gardens was the best solution. She is less than an hour away from Sunspear by carriage and far enough for Ser Barristan. That knowledge provided Elia with some comfort of mind. Elia has been here for half a day, and in that time, she has watched her daughter frolic in a shallow pool as her cousin Nym holds her hand as they wade in carefully. At home, Rhae is the oldest but still a babe. It is nice for her to have a family she can grow with near her. A family that will care for her and who she will learn to care for in return.

"I thought you would be swimming in the deeper pools by now, El." Ashara's voice carried over from behind her goblet of a pear wine from Norvos. "You were very hurried in your decision to come here so quickly."

Biding her own time, she looked over at the tray of fruits, cheese, and pieces of bread before reaching over to pick a slice of blood orange. She took a bite of it, and the sweetness of the juice burst onto her tongue. The scent of it reminded her of her father, and the thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Looking at the remaining orange in her hand, Elia found herself lost in memories of her baba.

"Did you know in my earliest memories of this place...the one constant...had been my father?"

Ashara, who had been lounging just a moment ago, gracefully sat up her face, a reflection of gentle understanding.

"He was a good man."

"The best, but I might be biased in that regard. I just realized this is the first time I have been here since his passing."

"It has been many years, but the hurt of their absence never truly leaves." Ashara's voice sounds distant. Elia knows her friend is aware of living with the memory of a parent as hers had passed several years ago.

"Heartbreakingly true, Ash. When I received news of my mother's passing, I knew he was not long for this world. I suppose there was some bracing for the loss, but there are moments like now when I forget they are no longer here, and I am callously reminded of that part of my life which is over and done."

The lovely purple-eyed woman reached over to squeeze Elia's ankle that dangled carelessly off the chaise—the want to connect a genuine need. The Princess smiled at her friend and wondered if she would get a sign telling her it was safe to share her truths with Ashara. It was one thing to keep her words behind her teeth when they were on Dragonstone, but now they are in Dorne. Where is the line between prudence and betrayal? Elia knows if she waits too long, she may cause irreparable harm to one of her oldest friendships.

Elia looks over to see Ser Barristan standing beside an extraordinarily large frond. While the man was taxing towards her at the time, Elia could admit he was a man who meant well but lived within the narrow rows of his station, both as a man and as a knight. The knight does not allow room for sharing his thoughts or for making self-corrections. No, he follows the wills of the men he is sworn to obey and, in doing so, thinks he has absolved himself of the consequences of those men's actions even though he is the one who will commit the acts of dishonor. Nevertheless, she doesn't wish the man to cook in his armor, so she is pleased to see him wearing less of it and seeking shade where he can.

Considering the words Ashara has spoken, the Princess realized he did not want an audience when she sought the pool. It was something she needed to do on her own. A breeze filled with salt from the sea called to Elia that the time had come. Soon the sun would set, and children would need to be rinsed and hair dried before dinner—a light fare Elia insisted.

"Ash, would you mind if I sent you with Katryn to ensure the children mind her well enough to get the children ready for the evening meal. I think I would like to take a quiet swim in the pool, after all." Elia's voice sounded distant to her own ears.

"Of course, El. This is why we are here. Take your moments when you need them most. Rhaenys and Aegon know Katryn well enough. I will see to those budding vipers of your brothers."

Giving Ashara's hand a squeeze of thanks, Elia rose, walking towards Ser Barristan.

"Good Ser, a moment, please."

"Yes, my Princess."

"Ashara will go with the children to ensure they are cleaned and ready for dinner. I am going to spend a little more time out here. Would you please go with the prince and the Princess? I will return to my chamber shortly."

"Of course, as you wish." The knight bowed deeply before walking towards Ashara.

I wonder if he will remain so agreeable once matters with the King and Rhaegar come to a head, she thought.

The courtyard was now empty with the quiet exception of the guards, but they did not worry, Elia. These men were faithful to House Martell. To their eyes, she was walking along following the different paths with a decanter in hand. She knows they must think she is taking some wine with her, but Elia knows what's inside.

Right before are these large leaves that cover the entrance to the pool she seeks. To a casual observer, it was difficult to determine how to enter, but she still remembered. Gently lifting a frond, Elia dipped below the large leaf, lower to its natural state behind her. There it was. The pool had a shallow start but deepened as you walk further in. Raising her hand to the clip behind her neck, her gown slipped off her body and onto the stone ground. She picked up the gown and tossed it carelessly onto a row of plush pillows.

Elia crouched down, and with one hand holding the bottle, she took her other hand and ran her fingers through the water. It was warm yet cooler than the air that touched her nude skin. Placing one foot into the pool and then the other, she smiled as the water rose to only her ankles. Slowly and carefully, she began the descent to the deeper end of the pool. The water began to rise from ankle to knees, to thigh, to waist, to breast to shoulder. The liquid went from warm to cool. She was still too far away. Elia had to swim to the cold.

It was awkward to swim with a large flask in her hand, but she had, and here she was. The water was wickedly cold, but to Elia, it felt like coming home. Using her legs to keep her afloat, Elia looked at the bottle in hands. With little to no doubt, she opened the lid and poured the water into the pool.

The water from the flask mixed with the water in the pool, and nothing happened. The bottle was floating away from her, and the cold spot still felt cold, yet nothing of note occurred. Elia began to doubt her actions. She began to speak to herself in a hushed whisper.

"I don't understand. I have sought the water. I am here, but I still do not see. What have I missed, Mother Rhoyne?"

Ask, and you shall seek it seems for as soon as Elia uttered her confusion, she was pulled by her feet to the bottom of the pool. At first, her reaction was to fight the pull, her heart pounding in her chest, the burning sensation in her lungs as her body fought to survive.

"Elia. Do not fight my child. I am here."

Elia froze. That voice. She knew that voice all her life until one day it left her. Her body stopped trashing, and she just floated under the water. How was this possible? Closing her eyes and unable to keep her breath within, Elia released the hold on her lungs and took a breath.

Taking a breath, Elia felt no water surrounding her, but rather it was sunlight. She could feel it, but she also heard the sound of water lapping against something.

"Open your eyes, my child."

Elia trusted the voice and did so. She was temporarily blinded by the sunlight hitting the water. After gaining her thoughts together, Elia found herself beside a river that was unfamiliar to her.

"Elia, I have waited a long time for you."

Turning her head, Elia saw a woman sitting beside her.

"Who are you?"

"I think you know the answer to that, my dear."

"Mother Rhoyne. But you look...not...well..."

"Say what you mean or rather say what you want to say."

"You look like a person, not what I envisioned a goddess to look like."

"It has been a very long time since I have taken this form. It is not the one I am most comfortable with, but I think it best for this. Very few have ever seen me like this--my husband and you. It's not a very long list, as you can see."

"So, you are real? All these years...centuries, my family always made it a point to teach us to know of the Mother Rhoyne. Though we have never seen you, you have been real all along."

"Faith is a compelling thing. We can't hold it nor touch it, but it has the power to change our world for better or for worse. Faith can be a very commanding weapon, too, if you use it just so."

"Why is this happening to me? I wouldn't say I carry a lot of faith, yet I can't deny all that I have seen all that I have felt. I feel as though this is not faith, this is knowledge."

"You had had more faith than you realize. I will admit I've felt the distance between us as you got older, but you knew me when you were a child, yet you had never seen me. You had faith you still do, but the gods must make their presence known every once in a while. It's how we keep faith alive. Consider yourself a prophet—someone who has faith paired with awareness. If you are wise, you will use this gift of sight. It will serve you well."

"How will it serve me? I don't understand how this can even be. I know I am experiencing these things, but they should not happen. It is not the way of the world."

"I can see how this would be hard for you to understand. Think of your sight like a river. It can hold the secrets of the past just as the water in a river existed when history was being made. The past always leaves a trace of itself, even in the water. Now the water can also change the land. Over time the ebb and flow can alter what once was on a set course. You have the ability to change what once was thought to be the final outcome. You can create a new path just like the water does in a river."

"Can I see the future?"

"The future no, not really. The water is comprised of the past and the present. There is no guarantee of the water's fate, but if you alter just so, you can trust that the water will exist in some form. I think you are wise enough to know how to change your fate."

Elia turned away from the beautiful goddess. She did not want to doubt her words. Could Elia change her fate? Hadn't she already? As they sat on the riverbank, the gentle breeze blowing gently through their hair, Elia asked the mother about the other gods.

"They do exist. Our gods do exist. We have the Crab King and Old Men of the River. However, I imagine you are asking about the gods that reside here."

"Yes. The Sevens, the Old Gods...are they here with us too?"

"They do exist. Again, I remind you of faith. Faith is what gives us life. As long as you have people, living people, who believe that we exist, then we will continue to live."

"If that is true, then why did you disappear from Dorne from the Dornish?"

"Did we disappear? Weren't you raised to have faith to believe in me? Your brothers, were they not raised to believe in me as well? I will admit much of our power comes from the water, and I have been weak here in Westeros, but then I was never supposed to leave the Rhoyne."

"But you are here now? Stronger?"

"Yes, I am thanks to your brother and to you. I am here now, and like the water, I will travel through the soil, and I will find other bodies of water. I will magnify, and I will flourish. The stronger one believes, the stronger I become."

"I guess time will tell which God will prevail."

"I think there is some truth to those words. The gods here are very unusual to me. These new gods have all the rules, yet it is left to the man who holds its followers accountable. Not the gods."

"That sounds right. I must admit while I go through the motions of the Seven, I do not feel they are real to me, not the way you were--are."

"I must say I share an understanding with these old gods. They have fewer rules, and people truly govern themselves. I can also appreciate that their power comes from nature. It comes from the natural order of the world--their trees. As soon as you released me, I saw the history of this place--it's past. My heart broke when the Andals came and destroyed the beauty that were the weirwood trees. The old gods here are very angry with how the world has changed."

Elia thought of the vision she had of Rhaeger and Lyanna and their marriage. She was wondering how the old gods felt about such a union.

"They were vexed if you must know the truth of it."

Elia whipped her head to look at the goddess. How did she know what Elia was thinking? Had she spoken these thoughts out loud?

"No, my child, you did not speak your thoughts. I can hear them. I am a goddess, you know. In fact, the only reason we are speaking now is that you think it's necessary. I can hear your thoughts and just as clearly as you could hear mine. My voice has always followed you. It was me answering your call."

Marveled by the idea that Elia could think her words rather than speak them, Elia returned the conversation back to how the Northern gods felt.

"The northern gods don't approve of Rheagar's union with Lyanna."

No, they don't. It is not a true union in their eyes, but I suspect you already know that."

Feeling as though their time was coming to an end, Elia asked the Mother what had occurred in the gardens of Sunspear.

"Elia, you are bound to the water. Remember what I told you the water can see the past. It can alter the present and shape the future. For you to see, all you need is to see the water. Those who believe in the water, you are never without me, for I am everywhere for ones such as us. Even in the driest places of Dorne, you will find water. If you seek the water, the water will find you, and you will see. The water will come to you should you ask for it...should you demand it, for you are a child of mine. All I will caution you to do is to curb what you need. You do not need much for many times, only a drop will do."

The sound of water splashing drew their attention from the Mother, both women turning towards the river. A man, broad of shoulder and dark of hair, swam to the shore.

"Is there such a thing as taking too much?"

"Absolutely! You have the power to change the path before you, just like a river. Where once crops were ample, a change can turn it into a desert, and a place that had nothing but ice and snow can then become a bountiful lush fertile land. Consider the standing of the grass and the flowers."

Elia pondered the goddess's words. She had to learn how to control this ability. The Princess found solace knowing she needed little to see the past and the present all to change the future. The woman beside her rising pulled Elia's attention back to the goddess. The smile on her face was radiant. It made Elia nostalgic for such an expression. She remembers setting eyes on a particular person and feeling her face shine with joy at seeing his face. Elia discreetly followed the goddess's gaze as she walked towards the river.

The man rose and extended his hand out to the Mother. The goddess walked into the water, her eyes never losing sight of the god before her. When their hands touched, he drew her close as he rested his head against hers. Soft words, which Elia could not decipher, were spoken before the Mother turned her head towards Elia once more.

"You are on the right path, my child. I will be near, never fear that. Just search for me in the water, and I will be there. The answers you seek will be found in the water, for water is everywhere."

Elia smiled at the goddess and nodded her head in acceptance. There was much to do, she thought. Closing her eyes, Elia took a deep breath, and in an instant, she felt the coldness of the water surround her. Slowly she opened her eyes and found herself in the pool. Raising her hands, she began the upward swim to break free of the surface.

Laying down on her back, Elia floated in the pool. The warmer water tells her that she was coming towards the pool's shallower ends. Sitting up, she was able to touch the bottom as the water came to her waist. Elia walked out of the pool and sat on the push pillows under a canopy of jewel-colored fabrics.

Drawing her legs close to her chest, Elia stared at the pool. There was so much she had learned, but at the same time, she felt there was more she didn't know. Though it was tiny, there was a part of her that knew there were questions she doesn't yet know to ask. How precarious trial and error would seem when such stakes were so high.

What to do next? Where was Rhaegar now? Had Leo made progress with Lord Stark?

_Elia seek and you shall see._

Trusting in the words, Elia closed her eyes. She could feel the water from the pool on her skin. Thinking of her husband and his whereabouts, Elia had the sensation of falling return. The air on her skin felt so hot and dry. There was a taste of sand in her mouth when she attempted to take a deep breath. Opening her eyes, Elia could see the tower before her. In the close distance, her husband and his party riding quickly on horseback. Her eyes only saw him as he looked over, smiling at the young woman who kept up riding beside him. Hurt and anger rose, but Elia quickly found a place for those feelings, for now, was not a place to address them. A noise behind her had drawn Elia's attention away from her—husband.

A young woman, pretty woman, dressed in men's clothes, was flipping a small dagger in her hand. The woman's eyes moved towards the traveling party, which was now very close to the tower, before turning and running inside a doorway located behind the tower steps. Elia stepped in to see a small kitchen. To the side was a mat, though one might call it a bed of sorts, a small traveling bag which she thought belonged to the young woman, and a few food items on the table—oranges, lemons, pears, bread, and a chunk of cheese.

The horses had arrived. Elia could hear the clanking of the armor worn by the Kingsguard as they walked about.

"I am telling you I saw a person when we were riding here." Ser Arthur's voice caused Elia's heart to tighten, and that twinge made her release a steadying breath.

The door to the kitchen had been closed by the young woman. There was a rattle as someone banged on it with an unnecessary force. Whent, Elia gathered. The door was not the soundest of structures, for it did not take long to swing open. There before her stood Sers Arthur and Oswell with their swords unsheathed.

The young woman threw the dagger she had in her hands, which caused the kingsguards to move away to avoid being hit in the face as they were not wearing their helmets. The woman had drawn a lighter sword of her own.

"Be gone, I tell you. Be gone." A Dornish voice not her own called out to the men.

"Who are you?" Arthur attempted to walk towards the woman, but she kept her sword at the ready.

"I will not warn you again. Be gone!"

"Arthur, Oswell, what seems to be the problem?"

Prince Rhaegar walks into the kitchen. While not a large space at the start, there is even less with three full-grown men.

"There seems to be a drifter occupying the tower."

"Who are you calling a drifter? I don't think you own the tower either. I was here first. It is you who must go?"

"Rhaegar, look at her. She is fierce."

"You would know, my love."

Elia bent over at hearing the expression of affection. An expression that once was hers. How it hurt to hear? To see them together stripped her raw.

"We don't mean to harm you. Sers, please put down your weapons. Do not make me repeat myself. I am your Princess. Do as you are commanded."

The men were poised but did as she ordered, and at that moment, Elia knew that there could never be two Queens of the Seven Kingdoms. Elia would not share her claim, not with this girl-child, for that is what she was. No woman would have done what it seems this creature was capable of doing.

"I see you have been here a while. What brought you here?"

The young man looked unsure of herself, biting her lower lip, she shook her head almost as though she was making a promise to herself.

"It is okay; we mean you no harm. My husband and our men were not expecting to find someone here as we spend some time in Dorne."

Her husband...focus, Elia.

"My father." The young woman's voice wavered. "I am here because of my father. As his daughter, he has certain expectations of me and expects that I will act in accordance to further my house."

Elia watched Lyanna Stark's eyes widen. The Northern nodded as she walked towards the young Dornish woman.

"I am familiar with such an expectation."

"I have a plan of my own. I just needed some time, and I thought the tower could afford me that, but clearly it cannot, so I will go."

"No, you don't." The Northern turned to Rhaegar. "My love, she can stay here."

"Lya..."

"You said we would need to get a few servants. Perhaps the gods have given us a gift in the form of her."

Those Stark gray eyes, wide and pleading a vivid contrast to her brother's orbs which were bruised and battered, held a private conversation with the Prince. After a long silence, Rhaegar nodded. The newly wedded Princess jumped into Rhaegar's arms. She kissed him soundly before pulling away and returning her attention to the young Dornish woman.

"If you are willing to help us procure food and other items and cook our meals, then you can stay here. My husband is a good man with eyes just for me, so you needn't worry about him, and our men are good and faithful knights. You will be safe here."

The young woman looked down as though she couldn't believe her good fortune. Lyanna took the Dornish woman's hands into her own.

"I know what it feels like to have such expectations placed on you. I know what it feels like to want to make your own destiny. If I am capable of such, why should you be denied that opportunity? Please stay."

The young Dornish woman nodded warily.

"Wonderful. My name is Lyanna, but you may call me Lya. You are?"

Elia wondered what name the woman would give. She did not have to wait long.

"The name is Lara."

So, they were here, and Lord Uller's daughter had made contact. Now it was time for Elia to see Leo. She had just blinked when she found herself on the road in the woods where Leo stood before Lord Stark and the guardians of the King's former hostages—well, all except Lord Arryn.

"I tell you, Lord Stark, your son and his companions are no longer in the Red Keep. They have been freed, and the King has sent a notice to all that will hear that you and your son Eddard have a bounty on your heads to make up for his loss of your heir."

"How do I know what you speak of is truth? You are Dornish?"

Elia felt those words slap her. Like her, Leo was taught how to withstand such insults, but that awareness doesn't stop one from feeling the sting.

"I have a feeling Lord Stark that once you have found clarity regarding the situation you find yourself in, you may discover how it matters little what I am or what you are. Dornish. Northern. Rhoynar. First Men. Merit can only be given when it is earned, and attributing qualities when not can be a very costly mistake."

"I do not know you. You say my son is freed. Am I to believe he is in Dorne?"

"Yes. With your daughter, though, I am not sure if they are united as of yet."

"Lyanna?"

"Yes. However, your son received his message, Lyanna is with Rhaegar, and we have discovered they are traveling to Dorne. The plan is to...search for them."

The Lord of Winterfell turned into stone. He was a formidable-looking man. Elia could see him in parts of Brandon and Eddard.

"Is the King aware of this?"

"I imagine so, in a fashion, he when your son requested an audience with the King."

"Then this matter can be discussed with him. I will go to Kings Landing. I will rectify this as is my due."

Elia watched as Leo shook his head sadly.

"My Lord, what part of there's a bounty on your head that you have missed?"

The Northern Lord gave Leo and cold glare.

"I will answer my liege's call, and I will decide from there."

"Or you can come with me, secure your children, and if need be then answer to your King. We are not far from the Crossroad Inn. I fear once you arrive, you will be ceased for the lure to capture you will be high. I have brought great danger to myself to warn you, but I will not die for you nor die trying to save you. However, if you choose to go, you will be captured and taken to the King. I pray may your gods be with you, Lord Stark."

"I have given you my answer. If Lyanna is with the Prince, then the King has much to answer for."

Leo heavy sigh confirmed for Elia what she already knew. Lord Stark would not come to Dorne. Elia followed Lord Stark and his small entourage to the inn. As predicted, they were disarmed and captured by those highly incentivized by the King's bounty. At this moment, Elia knew that Lord Stark and his men would die at the hands of King Aerys.

Slowly Elia became aware of both worlds, the world of visions and the world of her current reality. She can feel the change in the air. The temperature difference—the heat of Dorne versus the cooler air of the upper Riverlands. The sounds of the water flowing from the nearby pools against the sounds of angry voices and weapons striking weapons. Like breaking the surface of the sea, Elia resurfaced and found herself back in the Water Gardens, legs pressed against her chest, drops of water burrowing into her skin.

Rising, Elia put on her dress. She carefully pulled the protective frond away and slipped away. As she found the pathway that took Elia to her children, she considered her options. They had two battles—the first was to dispose of Aerys, and the second would be to ensure that Rhaegar would not be conferred as Aerys heir.

As Elia walked through the pools, the cooler air ruffling her hair as strands floated on air. What she need was the council to reconvene to remove Aerys. It was what should have happened at Harrenhal but hadn't. No other things occurred, and Rhaegar became—distracted. If the Lords removed Aerys and learned how Rhaegar intends to spit in the face of their way of life for marriage, alliances were the bedrock of their society. If the Crown Prince could walk away from his oath, then what would stop a lesser man from doing the same.

While the Targaryens have their exceptions, the Faith will not make an exception for annulment or polygamy, not when she has birth two healthy living children. The High Septon must be held to account for his man's actions on the Isle of Faces. If the septon were aware of Rhaegar's actions, he would stand with her should she play her cards just so. If the common folk knew how their precious Prince plans to ignore their septon's decree, Elia imagined Rhaegar would lose their love quickly. 

Elia nods at the guards standing at attention. They open the door for her, and she hears her daughter's voice calling out to her.

"Look, Mama, come here."

Her daughter had a flower garland on her head, and the sight brought a soft smile to Elia's lips. Yes, she could have lost her—lost this vibrant and curious child. If she was to keep her promise of keeping Rhaenys and her brother safe, then she needed help. What Elia needed were the Lord Paramounts and the High Septon, and that is what she would have.

*****

Oberyn found himself with his brother, uncle, and cousin Manfrey in Doran's private solar. Between them sat a tankard of a spicy Dornish Red. A man is accustomed to violence when the moment calls for it. Oberyn is not particularly uncomfortable with the consequences of such. However, even he was still trying to find a balance after observing the state of the Mad King's recent hostages.

"I don't understand why this happened." Manfrey murmured before taking another healthy sip of his drink.

"We know the King has slowly lost more wits since Duskendale," Doran responded, his eyes gazing outward. He was there, but Oberyn knew his brother was deep in thought as to how to proceed.

"I'm have been aware of that for some time, Cousin, but to set arms against these men and then imprison them is beyond our customs. What does he think he will gain from this action? If what we saw came to pass, no noble or their heir—no House would be safe."

"No, they wouldn't, and it is that fear and the faith of the common people that will open up the door for a better choice...a better king."

The men, startled, turned to find Princess Elia Martell standing at the door with a determined yet grave expression on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **The Mother Rhoyne in her human form**
> 
>   
> **The Old Men (Man) of the River**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I'm just playing with them. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay. This weekend was very busy. I just typed this up and apologize in advance for any errors.  
> Enjoy!

Upon confronting the men in her family with her proposal to the kingdom, Elia sent ravens to the heads of each Great House to request they come to Dorne. She carefully highlighted the King's recent demand for the brazen wolf's return and with him the head of Lord Rickard Stark and his younger son, Eddard. The ravens flew, and within three sennights, she received their replies.

All declined to come to Dorne, well all except the Lord of the Eyrie, who is en route to take his heir home once he has recovered enough to do so. Sadly, the man does not know that the young man succumbed to his injuries two days ago. Yes, Lord Jon Arryn will bring back the body of his kin, but his heir was another casualty of Rhaegar and his father.

They had also learned that the young Eddard Stark was to arrive with him as well in hopes of retrieving his brother. Elia prayed to Mother Rhoyne that he would have the opportunity to do so.

Doran had warned her that her responses would be low. With that, she made a point to end her missives with the addendum, _"Should you choose not to accept Dorne's hospitality at this time, I will not lie and say that Prince Rhaegar and I are not disappointed. However, should tidings change enough to alter your decision, the invitation will stand."_

Elia took a chance to write the letters on behalf of Rhaegar. Once they were here, she figured she had a chance at winning them to her cause once they knew its truth. Naught came nevertheless. Until the tides did change.

The raven traveled with dark words—words she knew would come. The Warden of the North had been executed for treason. The man chose a trial by combat as was his right, and his opponent by decree of the King was wildfire. No way a fair exchange, she thought.

Elia sat before her brother Oberyn in Doran's solar in Sunspear, as the children played in the Water Gardens under the supervision of Mellario and Ashara...and, of course, Ser Barristan. She held the parchment in her hands as she continues to read the words in front of her. No matter how often she repeated the act, the words remained the same. Lord Rickard Stark was dead. What was just as sad was that most likely, only one of his children was aware of it.

The youngest Stark brother, Benjen, she learned was well ensconced in the North where he must have received his own raven by now. How heartsick he must feel? 

As for the remainder of the departed's offspring, Lord Stark's heir was still alive, but his fever had made him unable to stay lucid for any amount of time, his daughter was living a secret existence in a tower in Dorne, and his second-born was voyaging to Dorne by ship thinking he was coming for a brother but who would discover the death of his father.

The King has followed his news with the reiteration of Brandon and Eddard Stark's heads. He has now demanded the life of Lyanna's intended, Lord Robert Baratheon, as though the man is a fault for merely being the betrothed of Lyanna Stark.

Elia is pulled away from her thoughts by the glass of wine that appeared before her. Looking up, she sends a strained smile to her cousin Leo who had arrived yesterday morn.

Just as the water ebbs and flows, nothing stays the same as it once was. The ravens began to arrive. In just a moon's turn, Lords Tywin Lannister and Lord Hoster Tully were due to arrive. The Princess Rhaelle Targaryen was expected to arrive before then. She wrote to tell Elia that Robert had informed her of his decision to go with Lord Arryn to Dorne. In her midst, Elia would have the attention of Dorne, the North's warden, and his heir should he not arise, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Eyrie, and the Stormlands.

It seems Elia's parting note to Lord Tywin regarding his beloved son's safety, Jaime was enough to rouse the man to come. More viper than lion, the man plays the long game, but his weakness is always his son. The King knew it and used it. Elia would use it as well.

After discussing with her brothers and cousins about the preparation needed for their arriving guest, Elia made her way to the visitor's manse on the compound. She found Ethan Glover sparing with a few young men. Oberyn thought it best to keep the young man focused on more than the shadow of death that seemed to have followed them. Looking at his determined face, Elia saw the truth in her brother's words. The young man needed the escape. He needed to direct his feelings into something before it expressed itself in an unforgivable way.

As she entered the courtyard's corridor, she saw Mallister and Royce with their heads bent close together, the men deep in conversation. That morning they were told of their father's deaths by order of the King, and the news seemed to fracture more of their already battered spirits. She could choose to see the horrors these men experienced, but she truly didn't need to. The thought of doing so seemed offensive and only served to cause further harm. They knew their truth, and Elia thought it best they controlled who and how they shared it, for she knew it was not her place. All one needed to do was use their sight to see these men escaped a type of purgatory. The recent death of Elbert Arryn seemed to compound their pain. The news seeming to devastate Royce the most.

The men noticed her as she quietly walked by them. They nodded to each other in acknowledegement. Elia passed the room that had temporarily been the young Arryn heir's. She sent a prayer that the young man had found peace, for it was so evident that he was in such misery. Now she stood before Lord Stark's door. Yes, Lord Stark, he forever would be. The maester had said his fever had broken, and he was still weakened, but he had longer moments of lucidity that morning. Every day Elia made it a point to visit with him. Normally she sat while he slept while wiping his brow when his fevers overtook him.

Elia sat and took stock of the man. He was a tall man with a powerfully built body. As his body healed, so did his face, and she could see he was just as handsome as he was at the tourney, granted now his black and purple bruising turned green tinged with yellow. Lady Catelyn would be a lucky young woman, well, if she could look past how well her future husband was rumored to get on with the ladies.

"Princess Elia?"

Lifting her head to the quiet voice, Elia saw the stormy gray eyes of Brandon Stark taking a measure of her.

"Hello, Lord Stark."

A dark gruff came out of the man.

"That would be my father, Princess."

Elia averted her gaze downward. Wetting her lips that seemed to lose all their moisture, Elia felt as though she could no longer avoid what this man needs to know. Better he learns it now than discover we held this from him. Elia was well versed in keeping secrets from those who have a right to know. Her recent revelation to Ashara went better than she thought it would, but her friend was hurt and now carries that with her. Ash assures her it won't last, especially after Elia took Ashara on a journey to the tower. She saw with her own eyes, and with this new knowledge, she found it hard to find her footing. Elia completely understood, and she was living this.

Knowing that should anyone walk in, they would consider her next act highly inappropriate, Elia thought that propriety be damned for kindness should never be sacrificed when it is warranted. Telling this man about his father and his friend deserved her compassion. She took a seat on the edge of his bed and took his heavy hand into hers. Elia was so focused on the lines of his hands. It was better to attend to that than the question in his gaze. Taking a deep breath, Elia's eyes rose to meet the Northman's. She prayed to Mother Rhoyne to give her the right words.

"I deeply and humbly regret what I am about to tell you."

The hand in her own tensed

"We received a raven from Kings Landing from the King."

"What did he say?"

Elia thought of how to frame this to lessen the hurt, but she knows in her heart that there are no words she could tie together that would soften this news. Nevertheless, she would try.

"When you were freed, the king demanded your return. He demanded your father and your brother Eddard account for your actions."

"No."

One word. Just one word he spoke, and those two-letters conveyed everything about this man. It revealed his fear and his desire that his worst thought would be a lie to himself.

"Your father answered the call. We tried to warn him so that he would come here to you, but he was a loyal servant of the Crown, and he went to his King."

"—and he died for it." The new Lord of Winterfell whispered. A chilling answer that clenched at Elia's heart. This man knows what happens at the Red Keep. He barely survived it himself. She could only imagine the horrors his father endured.

"Why did you help us? Me?"

Elia sighed as she considered how much to reveal. This man learned about his father's death at the hands of the King all because he chose to act on behalf of his sister's honor. The Starks have a noble reputation, even as far as Dorne, but at that moment, she would not want to be a Stark—not with this heavy load that stands before them. Perhaps it need not matter as being a Martell in this situation comes with its own trials. The man's calloused hand tightened his grip of her own fine-boned one.

"I know what my husband has done."

Storm gray eyes darkened to black, and Elia realized how her words could be misunderstood.

"No, you misunderstand. I have not given my husband permission to do what he has done."

"Which is?"

"He has married your sister, and they have come to Dorne. Secretly, of course, where they reside not far from the Prince's Pass."

"He cannot marry her as he is already married." The man's voice was chilled and seething all at once.

"Yes, a fact he, your sister, two kingsguards, and a septon were all very aware of at the time of the ceremony, and yet it still occurred. We have a small group of men looking for the septon now."

Elia gently jolted when she heard Oberyn's voice come from behind her. She wondered when he had entered the room as he was not with her when she arrived moments ago. Lord Stark's eyes flew to her brother's.

"I don't believe you. Lya wouldn't do that. She may have a kind of wolfblood that matches mine, but she would not just leave with a married man. She would not marry a married man. For all her stubbornness, for I will admit it is a Stark trait, my sister would not shame herself nor her family in such away. Lya is strong, smart, and fair. Quick with a bow and handy with a sword. I know my sister is not like you, a Southeron lady, but she is a lady of the North and she has too much honor in herself sink this low. Hells, she struggled to accept Robert for some of his...indiscretions... before marriage. No, you are wrong. Your Prince has her, but Lya did not go willingly."

"Aside from your belief in your sister, what other proof can you provide? Once we find the septon, the realm will know. Why can you not entertain the thought that your sister would act thusly?"

"Would you believe a story that goes against all you know of your sister?" Brandon spat at Oberyn.

Her brother looked at her and then at the Stark in front of him. Oberyn shaking his head before responding.

"No, I wouldn't. I would need to see it with my own eyes."

"As would I. I will not abandon my sister or doubt her honor until then. I will trust what I know before the self-serving words of others. To cast doubt to your suppositions, I was alerted to my sister's retinue being attacked."

Elia and Oberyn looked at each other, an unspoken agreement that they would explore that moment more in the confines of privacy.

"By whom..." Elia inquired.

The large man on the bed groaned as he tried to adjust himself to sit up further on the bed. "Peytr Baelish. He was riding about when he saw the Prince, and two of his men put our men down before he took my sister out of her carriage—absconding with her."

"Your men were killed." Elia thought it worse that they chose to run away together and killed to do so, but then if things remained as they had been, wouldn't they have killed many anyway.

"No, but they were hit hard enough on the head to fall into darkness. They awoke shortly after my party's arrival. I took them back to Riverrun before leaving with my companions to Kings Landing. We had hoped to see _your Prince_ on our journey.”

The tone in which he called Rhaegar her Prince was not lost on her. The man hated her husband of that she had no doubt. Before her was a man who has probably imagined all the ways Rhaegar has defiled his sister. Little does he know the young wench allows him to with full authority of her person. She can quietly thank her gods that the men had been spared. Not wanting to agitate the man any further and wishing to disarm her own brother from provoking Brandon with Oberyn's righteous anger, Elia regained control of the conversation.

"Lord Stark, I have reached out to the Great Houses in hopes that we can stop the course the King is on, and in doing so, if we find the Crown Prince is too unstable to take the Crown, then we can make a better arrangement for the realm."

The Northman just stared at her, and Elia kept her gaze true.

"I do not want you to die, my Lord. I do not want your house to end. I do know want men to give their lives for naught, for wives to lose their livelihood for in this world, most women need the security a husband can provide. I dread the thought of children going to war because they are of age, and I detest the idea that children will be left vulnerable to harsh realities when their parents are gone from them. This realm is littered with dangers. I want my children and I to live. I need my family to be safe—all of them. Please understand I wish to protect all that I can."

Gray eyes took her in. She could feel herself being measured, and for once—outside of her family, she was not found wanting.

"I understand, but you know what you wish for may never happen. The world is cruel, Princess, but you have my word that I too want to protect my people, but they will demand blood for what the King—and Prince have done."

Elia nodded.

"You are not alone, for I am sure Lord Arryn will want the same."

"Elbert..." Brandon uttered one word.

"I am truly sorry."

The man's throat worked quickly, and Elia thought it best to give him privacy as he expressed his anguish.

Nodding once again at the new Lord of Winterfell, Elia stood to take her leave with Oberyn by her side. Stopping, she turned to him once more.

"Lord Stark..."

"Princess?"

"You demand Rhaegar pay the price for taking your sister, but if, and only if, we discover your sister willingly went with my husband, have you thought what she would owe me."

"Until I hear otherwise, I won't entertain the notion, Princess."

"Fair enough, but I highly recommend that you hope for the best but prepare for the worst for should the worst come, it would be in your best interest to have an answer to my inquiry. Rest assured, I will ask it of you—should we discover that your truth wasn't as honest as you thought it to be."

Winter came to Dorne through the eyes of Lord Brandon Stark. Yes, she could see that, but she had no fear for the blazing heat of her truth would prevail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Lord Brandon Stark**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are not my brainchild. They belong to another. I’m just using my imagination and the characters are my inspiration.
> 
> Just a heads up that I have many commitments over the next two weeks, so I probably won’t have a new chapter next Monday, but rather I’ll be back for the following one.

Doran Martell was a man accustomed to leading and protecting the people of Dorne. He was born to the role and has spent many years living the life of The Prince. While all that may be true, what was an oddity of sensation we were not used to processing was how he felt about the number of Lord and Ladies who were to arrive at his doorstep. While most have a reason not to betray Elia's request, some would find themselves rewarded by the King for their honesty—well, assuming the Mad King doesn't kill them first.

His men are ready for betrayal, and his family knows what they are to do should they find themselves deceived. Elia has spent much of her time _watching_ these people, and if she feels confident in the goodwill of their arrivals, then he shall not doubt her. Nevertheless, he can't be too unprepared. If he were to perish, he would ensure that the Nymeros Martells would survive.

"Your thoughts are uncharacteristically loud."

Turning to his wife of many years, Doran smiles at her. Their love was once true and full of the fire, he imagines the young Stark girl to feel. Before Mellario, Doran could not say he knew what romantic love felt and how it altered carnal desires. While not a novice, when he had laid with his wife, sex was something he did to exercise his body and to numb his mind from always thinking—if only for a moment.

When he met Mellario, she was unlike any other, and that knowledge fueled something in him. He saw what his life could be, and it pushed him to ask her to come back with him and be his wife. Perhaps no different than what the bastard Prince might be thinking should he still have any thought of mind. No, it was different as he had no wife when he acted on his desires. Now the passion has burned itself out, and a warm glow remains. It's a nice feeling, he supposes, but it's no nicer or worse than he felt before he married his wife. He knows it, and does she though the care is there. Doran wonders how much longer the warmth will last before it all but dies and will the aftermath be enough for them to endure together.

Many times, he thinks it is just a matter of time. He is not a blind man. Doran can see how much she misses her home. Every visit, she finds it harder to return. Dorne and Westeros's rules confuse her because she is of Essos and questions why Dorne follows Westeros when it is nothing like the other kingdoms. Many a row have been fought between them. She wants her life as it was and struggles to reconcile that desire with the life she agreed to. This thought saddens him, but he does not know how to give her what she wants, nor does he think he could.

"I was just thinking about our guest."

"I must admit I find myself greatly moved by Lord Arryn's grief. While I can see a fox and not a falcon behind his eyes, it brought me more discomfort to see his grief for his kin. It was as though a light dimmed in his eyes, but I think it originated in his heart." Mellario stood to look over the balcony, the sunlight catching on the beads that cling to her dress. He can admit she still is a beautiful woman.

Nodding with his wife's assessment, the senior Arryn held his decorum as the great lord he is known to be. His brother told him the man had seemed determined yet hopeful when he disembarked from his ship. However, when he saw Royce as they met the Lord of the Eyrie, he seemed to guess his nephew had not survived, and there was a moment there when Lord Arryn seemed to shutter himself up.

"I guess one would say that the Stark brothers fared a bit better." Mellario wondered aloud.

Shaking his head, Doran thought while their house still survived, there was much loss for the family—loss of their loved ones, loss in honor, and perhaps loss of alliances.

"I would not want to be a Stark in this situation. They are damned with a reality that won't ever truly go away. At least not within this life nor the next. I wonder how they will react to Elia's proposal."

"You are sure they will even entertain it?"

"I think if Elia treads gently, then yes, I think they will."

Rising, Doran closes the distance between him and his wife. He takes her hand and notices how she arched her right brow in surprise. Gods, she is a beauty, but she is also strong of spirit, and that just enhances her attractiveness.

"If I have not said it before, let it be known that I value your insights. I see you, Mellario, even when you think I do not."

A soft smile played around her wide lips. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before she turned and slowly walked away.

"Here is another piece of insight. You might want to make your way to your sister soon enough. She is meeting with Princess Rhaelle and Lord Baratheon today."

Sighing deeply, Doran started the walk towards his sister's garden.

*****

Elia was tired. Her mind, body, and soul were failing her. She found it so hard to remain acute when the stress of Rhaegar's actions compounded her still-healing body. The water restores much but engaging with it as she does come with a cost, as she has recently learned.

At present, the Starks have kept their company with each other, Lord Baratheon, and the companions of Brandon Stark. Lord Arryn spends much of his time in his chambers—mourning. Earlier that morning, she could see Lord Tywin's ship departing Oldtown with Lord Hightower not far behind. The Riverland Lord was about a day or so away.

Once she ascertained the whereabouts of those men, she journeyed to the tower. It seems the Bastard of Hellholt has been a quiet viper and the people around her none the wiser. Since meeting Mother Rhoyne, Elia has learned all sorts of new ways to use the water. She can see so much in such a short amount of time. Unless her family is near, she can get lost in these dream walks.

When Elia entered the tower, she could see Ellaria cutting blood oranges on a table. A noise at the door drew both Elia and Ellaria's attention. It was the Stark girl.

"Good morning, Lya." Ellaria stood, sending the girl a warm smile that seems to stop before reaching her eyes.

"Hello, Lara." The young woman seemed to be curiously uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I am being silly. My husband and I had thought that perhaps I was with child, but it seems not to be true."

"You've bled—"

"—and soiled the sheets. It now occurs to me that I have never had to attend to such matters before. I was wondering if you would be able to assist me."

"Do not worry. I have my own sheet to clean as well. They say it is a good sign when women who are gathered together share their moonblood at the same time. It is a good omen, or so that is what my mother told me."

"I hate to have you bother, but if you could, I would be grateful."

"Of course, Lya. I also don't mind helping you with the other matter."

"Other matter?"

"Before my mother died, she educated me in the ways of preparing one's body to welcome a child or to prepare itself for denying the chance of a seed taking root. She also shared ways to increase a man's rigor and seed, but by the sounds coming from above most evenings, I do not foresee that being a problem." The Dornish woman smirked at the Northern as she took the bloody blankets from Lyanna.

"Rhaegar did say that all this travel could make my body confused and unreliable. He said time will help with that, but I will not object if you know of ways to help. What would I have to do?"

"Nothing really. There are a few medicinal herbs that can assist. I would recommend having them in your tea."

"Very well, I can do that. Thank you, Lara. Well, I should be off. Rhaegar wants to go for a ride. It's a race that I will surely win."

"By all means, you should not keep your husband waiting. I will ride to this small farm nearby to replenish our pantry, but I'll get this to wash first." The women nodded to each other.

The Northern beauty walked away, and Elia followed her. She stopped at the doorway as she watched her husband lift his _wife_ onto her horse. He looks happy, but then she thought there were times that he looked at her in the same way. Was he not happy then? Is he not happy now? Was it all a lie? Is it all still the truth?

Elia slowly blinks herself into a new scene. She is still in the kitchen. It is night, and Ellaria is lying on a pallet as her husband plays a song on his harp. It is a melody about two fated lovers. The song floated on the wind. Elia slowly slid to the ground as she heard the sounds. How often had she heard him play that song over the course of their marriage? While Rhaegar has killed a part of her love for him, there is a part of her heart that is still so deeply tied, and these months away have not completely unraveled that connection.

"Try your best like a good little wolf to find yourself with child. In time you will discover your efforts were for naught."

Ellaria spoke in a language understood by those who spent time with the Orphans. The words brought a harsh smile to Elia's lips.

She thought of Arthur and found herself standing before him and Whent. Their conversation thought to be had in private revealed to her that all was not well.

"This is wrong, Oswell, and you know it."

The other man drank deeply from his cup as they sat on a couple of broken boulders beside the tower.

"We took an oath. It is not our place to question."

Arthur stared up at the sky.

"It may not be our place, but tell me that your sense of honor is not faulty by acknowledging you can tell the difference between the wrongness of this and following him because we are bound to."

Elia was curious. All these years and all these men and none seemed to reveal any opinion about Aerys and his treatment of Rhaella. While she saw Arthur's on the Isle of Face, the man still continued to stand by Rhaegar though it seems he disagrees.

Arthur's position angers her, but then for a moment, she wonders if the Targaryen men broke faith first in making them complicit in silence. What recourse do they have, which allows them to keep their honor in the way that the realm sees it? If it was not by the grace of Mother Rhoyne, what would have been her options. The answer for them both was the same—there options were disappointing and limiting.

"I see the difference, Arthur. I do not understand what he intends to gain from this, but I hold to the idea that he knows what he is doing and that the cost, in the end, is worth these acts."

"And if they are not. Have you considered what the _cost_ would be. The man is married. Elia—Princess Elia has not left him without heirs. He has a son and a daughter whom she birthed in a short time to the determent of herself. The motherhouses and orphanages love her for her patronage. The Faith in Kings Landing rides the coattails of her generosity, and the common folk respects her for it. You think the High Septon will uphold that ceremony in the Riverlands. Do not mistake the derision she faces for being Dornish at court as a basis for how the common folk sees her. Not all of Dorne. Her. It's their wrath we should fear. The King is but one man. If he loses the Gods favor, then where will we be then?"

"What you speak of is treason?"

"What treason? We swore an oath to the King. Do you see him here? We have been following the Prince, and while I once would say he is better than his father, now I am not so certain."

"We protect the royal family. We do his bidding by following the edicts of his son."

"Do you think that line of thought will protect you from the King should he find out you stood in support of a marriage he did not sanction. I dare say it won't."

"It is all we have, Arthur."

Elia could see that these men were disheartened in their own way. In the end, she knew their legacy would not be something they would have chosen for themselves.

It was a woman's voice that pulled Elia's attention from the men before her. 

"She's not sleeping, Manfrey. I know what sleeping looks like, and that is something else altogether. I've heard of this, but I had never seen it."

"Heard of what?" Manfrey's guarded voice centering Elia.

"They are like seeing visions in the day. Hmmm...I wonder what she sees."

Elia was surprised to hear such words from this Targaryen Princess's mouth.

"Hello, Princess Elia."

The Dornish princess found her eyes shooting wide open when a wrinkled hand touched her own.

"Welcome, Princess Rhaelle."

An otherworldly gaze pierced her own. Eyes so clear in their blueness, and yet they shimmered subtly with lilac tones—a very different hue than her husband's or son.

"If now is not a good time, we can do this later on in the day though I cannot promise I will be absent from my grandson. He's currently occupied with Eddard Stark, but if that weren't the reality, he would be flying like the Stranger on horseback to give your husband his comeuppance and save his betrothed."

"No, please accept my apologies. I am still on the mend after Aegon's birth, and I find some days I am surprised by how quickly my will leaves me." Elia thought it best to redirect the crone's focus to a socially acceptable reason for her slumber.

Knowing eyes continued to stare at her, a moment where each woman held each other's gaze. Princess Rhaelle nodded as a slight quirk of her lips worked diligently to suppress a smirk. The woman took a seat in front of Elia while a table sat between them. It seemed like no sooner did the older Princess sat that the servants began to place platters and tankards down. It seemed like too much, but Elia knew that the older woman expected it as that was the way of their world.

The older woman took a slice of blood orange. Her slender fingers holding the edge of the fruit before her as she examines it carefully.

"Every year, Storm's End purchases these from Dorne. We preserve them best we can, but I must say I think this will be the best blood orange I will have ever eaten in my life."

Elia smiled as she watched the woman take a delicate bite. The older woman closed her eyes and released a moan that might cause a passerby to speculate on what was occurring in her private garden.

"Heavenly. Tis a pity that this experience is marred by the reason I find myself in your homeland."

How to proceed, Elia wondered. What approach would be best? This is not a spoiled woman who learned to play the game at the breast of her mother. This was a woman who found herself as a child a piece on the gameboard. She had to learn how to survive, and she had lived long enough to see her husband, son, and good-daughter perish while watching her three grandsons grow. A Targaryen who was disposed and, in many ways, forgotten. She paid a cost so that others could live as they wanted. Such a luxury afforded to a mere few. Perhaps that was her point of entry—duty and familial betrayal.

"I would like to tell a falsehood that permits us to believe that you are here out of good graces and fidelity to a shared past, but I do not think I am capable of such deception, nor do I think you are deserving of it."

The woman nodded, her graying hair with hints of blonde was coiffed in such a way that accentuated the Valyrian beauty the woman carried deep in her bones.

"Daresay, I would not."

"My husband has made a rather foolish choice to bring Lyanna Stark into our marriage."

"Hmmm...it is not uncommon for men of his ilk to take a lover. While I had what one would call a good marriage, my husband had his occasional dalliances, but that was all they were. Though I would prefer that the woman your husband sought not be my grandson's future wife."

Elia took a slow and steady breath as she averted her gaze for a moment—not looking down and away. Rather, looking upwards before her, she lowered her eyes to meet the woman in front of her.

"You misunderstand me, Princess Rhaelle. He hasn't just taken Lyanna Stark for a lover. He has married her _bringing her into my marriage...as his second wife."_

The elder Princess's head snapped back as though Elia has struck her.

"No. By the Gods no." A whisper of shock and confusion was the only indication Elia had that the woman had heard her.

"I am afraid it is true." Elia laid her shame bare to a woman who was both wife and mother. A woman who understood the role they played in the greater game.

"But to marry her is not possible. He is still married to you, and while all have heard of your difficulty with childbirth, you are still alive. Giving him two babes. Unless I am speaking to a specter, I do not understand how this has come to be."

"My brothers have sent men to bring the septon who performed the ceremony here."

The Targaryen now Baratheon sent her a shrewd stare.

"How did you come to know all this? You seem remarkable sure."

Wetting her lips, Elia thought that now that this would be the moment where duplicity would best.

"Before you answer, I must say I have appreciated the candidness of this conversation, and I would hate for our shared accord to end Princess Elia."

The two princesses' eyes met. Elia took a piece of blood orange. She would feel the wetness of the fruit, but more importantly, she could sense the water. Drawing the moisture to her, Elia used the water to look into her past. She inquired as to memories the woman had about Dorne and her Dornish roots. By the time Elia consumed the slice, she had the information she had needed.

"How much do you know about your grandmother and great-grandmother?"

"Well, I never met either, but my brother Duncan had. He used to tell my siblings and me these lavish tales from our grandmother Dayne, who it seemed by all account, got along well with her Martell good mother."

"What story did he tell most often?"

The older woman's eyes frosted over, and a hard look replaced the cautioned congeniality of before.

"Princess Elia, I have not come to reminisce about my brothers or about distantly shared blood twice over. I asked you how did you come to learn of your husband's marriage. If you wish to continue this conversation, I suggest you respond, for if you don't, I think it best I take my leave."

Sitting forward with her elbows on her knees, Elia held her hands towards her lip as her eyes steadily held the former Lady of Storm's End. Sighing once more, she draped her arms over her lap and proceeded with her line of questioning.

"I am trying to answer you in the most transparent of ways, but to do so, I must share something with you that your mind might resist—unless you can recall the story your brother told you. Remembering it will make what I am about to share easier to understand."

The silver brows on the woman lowered, her lips remained pursed, and her gaze distrustful. Elia thought she was about to stand to make her departure.

"Duncan liked to tell the Dornish story of the Lady in the River. He said the Lady was a God that brought a bit of magic to the world when her followers needed it most. He spoke of magic and water, and I loved the fancifulness of it all. Dunc would whisper to me of how enlightening it would be to have such power, and maybe just maybe we might have enough Dornish blood to be given such a gift."

The woman released a dark grunt.

"My brother. I was the girl, but he was the dreamer. He got to dream, and I got the duty. He married a woman who bewitched him with her sense of freedom. A life she could have to a degree as she did not come with a family of note. Her part in this world was not to advance that of her family standing. He, on the other hand, had the hubris that comes with being a man, I suppose. Dunc thought little of who would have to pay for his choices. Neither did Jaehaerys and his exceptionalism gave life to Shaera's hope, and they made their choices too. Daeron, he just followed suit. Life can be full of the unfortunate when you are most vulnerable, can it not? I did not learn duty on the breast of my mother, though by all accounts, many say she was a good woman, nor in the walls of the Red Keep. I learned it from my good father and good mother, for it was in Storm's End that I was educated on such matters. I fear I have digressed. Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?" Derision dripping from her lips.

Elia felt pity for the child who was stripped from the only home she had known. Unless her mother felt nothing for her, the former queen must have been bereft as some part of her broke away from her soul at the departure of her youngest child. The woman before her did not have her pity. Oh no, she had Elia's admiration. This is a woman who will understand.

"The story is true."

A long silence stood in the place of conversation.

"So, it is to be deception, I see."

"No, I speak the truth. I will show you." Taking another cleansing breath, Elia grasped the older woman's hand. Together, Elia shared her visions—from her dreams on Dragonstone, Oberyn's vision in the water, to the witness of her husband's marriage to the Stark girl. She even took them to the Red Keep to witness her nephew madness.

When Elia released the woman's hand, she opened her eyes to see the older woman sitting in stupefaction.

"By the Gods..." The older woman whispered.

"We share some likeness Princess Rhaelle. We both did our duty, and we both were left by the Targaryens in our lives to fend for ourselves. We were used for our bloodline and nothing more. The difference between us is it seems you have been given the respect you deserve for honoring your commitment while I have been—"

"—disrespected."

"Your house owes you a great debt."

"If you mean House Targaryen, I have stopped thinking of them as my house long ago."

Elia nodded in understanding. She, too, would want nothing to do with the name should her family treated her thusly.

"You and my children share a similarity."

"Hmmm...what is that pray to tell?" The color began to return to the woman's face as her countenance began to soften, returning to what it was at the start of their conversation.

"My children are more than just Targaryen. They are Dornish. I am a part of them, and though they are of their father's house, I intend to teach them to honor their Dornish roots. You, too, are more than just Targaryen. Are you not of the Riverlands as well?"

"I am. I will admit I always felt more like my mother's daughter than my father's. Shaera was clearly more Targaryen than I, but I always gravitated to my mother. Even when I left, she wrote daily until she died. I must admit I know more about the Riverlands than I do about being Valyrian in Westeros."

Nodding again, Elia continued.

"And what if we honored that."

Elia could see the older woman connecting a pattern, but what she saw the Dornish woman did not know.

"Do you mean marriage? Do you propose sending your own daughter to Storm's End?"

Elia shook her head vehemently.

"No, but I do propose a marriage. Should Robert stand with Dorne to remove Aerys and weaken Rhaegar, then I propose Aegon marries his daughter."

The older woman sat back and considered Elia.

"How does that bring in the Riverlands?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she chuckles.

"Through another marriage, of course."

"Robert and a house from the Riverlands."

"Yes. While a Blackwood would be better, there is not a daughter of marriable age. The Starks are well regarded by the Blackwoods more so than Lord Tully, I daresay. With Brandon's marriage to Lord Tully's daughter, the Blackwoods would support their liege lord align with your house. So, I treat you to consider Lord Tully's younger daughter, Lysa. It is said she is a lovely sight. Though she lost her mother at a young age, she was raised in a home where she has been taught the expectations of a Southeron lady by a septa. The lady still young enough to be molded into what House Baratheon needs."

The older woman lifted her cup of Norvoshi pear wine. She sipped and stared at Elia. The woman seemed serene, but upon further inspection, Elia could see that the woman was moving all the game pieces, allowing her to foresee every outcome.

"While Lord Tully would be over the moon with such an alliance. The Lannisters and the Tyrells will be most difficult."

Taking a drink from her own glass.

"There just may be more of us united together than apart. My father used to tell me that luck was when preparedness met opportunity. These houses might be prepared to poise their daughters or granddaughters to make a similar alliance. The difference between them and you is that opportunity has come to House Baratheon and not theirs."

Rhaelle's sigh was deep, causing the woman's still expansive bosom to rise greatly.

"What if Robert and Lysa do not have a daughter? Baratheons run towards males. The last female, was my good-sister."

Elia rose and stood beside the woman.

"Then, the offer still stands. I am sure you are most aware of your grandson's reputation. We are too seasoned not to discuss this though indelicate it may be."

The woman let out a deep laugh.

"Yes, he is a lustful one. His grandfather was too. I can say I enjoyed my husband thoroughly. While not a love match, it truly turned out to be a good one."

"Perhaps Lysa will have the same, and should she not birth a daughter, then we will legitimize the daughter he has living in the Vale. Though in truth, she cannot stay there. She must be closer."

"No woman wants to see her husband's bastard about. I do not care how enlightened she is with her marriage match."

"True. However, what if we fostered her here in Dorne. We can still legitimize her, though bastards are treated better here. She would be cared for in my brother Doran's household, and if all goes according to plan, she will be the sister to the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms or find herself the Queen. If that were so, the realm could not fault us for such a coincidence, for she isn't Dornish, but a Baratheon raised in Dorne."

The Valyrian princess rose to take a small turn around the garden before turning to Elia.

"I don't object to the idea. I can’t believe you’d settle your son with a bastard.”

“Legitimate bastard. My husband and your brothers were true-born and it did not stop them from giving into their lustful desires. Let them call it love, but we know they debased themselves. Your nephew burned a man for no other reason than he thinks he is a dragon come again while he abuses his wife because it is his right. I’d say a base-born child has just the same odds of being decent and living an honorable life. Especially if I can prepare her for this life.”

“Oddly enough I don’t completely disagree with your reasons. The biggest obstacle to all of this is Robert. He has such strong opinions about that young Stark woman. I don't think he would still himself long enough to listen to reason."

"If no woman truly wants her husband's ill-gotten child near, I have to suspect that no man wants to publicly humiliate himself fighting for a woman who freely chose another. Does Robert not have his pride?"

"Aye, I do."

Both women turned to see the tall, handsome Stormlander.

"Hmmmm...he's always been quiet...eerily so. Dare I ask how much have you heard?"

"Most of it. Don't worry, Princess, your brother, and cousin have been within an arm's length away from my person. I do not think Lyanna went with him, but you seem to think she did. Perhaps we both are needing to believe our truths. You about your husband and I about my Lyanna."

Elia nodded in agreement with the blue-eyed man.

"And yet only one of our truths will prevail."

"If you are right, and hearing it from some septon will not deter me, I must hear it from her lips. I must see her without her being under duress, and then and only then should she confirm your words will I agree to this alliance. If I lose Lyanna, the woman to be my wife matters naught. House Tully will do. I will add one more demand, though. I do not trust Targaryen's even if the young princeling is raised by a Dornish mother. I will not place any daughter of mine in your hands without assuring; he is not mad. When he is of age, send him to a man of my choosing to squire or me. A few years away from the Red Keep will not harm him none."

Oberyn and Manfrey's eyes are on her. She knows this is her first move on the board, and if it doesn't yield her desired result, other plays will fall.

"He must be protected at all costs. I will not send him without shields."

Robert grunted. "Fear not, Princess Elia. Should we survive what his to come, I would want my future good son fostered under the best man I know."

"And if I am wrong?"

"I thought you said you weren't." The man's fury was barely banked under the surface.

"I am not, but I am not so arrogant, not plan for the event that I might have been mistaken."

The Storm Lord nodded as he looked about taking stock of the people before him.

"If you are wrong, I want him tried for what he did to Lyanna when he stole her away. Then when he is wrapped in his guilt for he surely will be found guilty, I want to be the one who takes his head."

"Assuming the Starks do not take it first." Oberyn snarked.

Lord Robert turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting her brothers.

"Oh, they can slice his head off his body. I will take his head, though."

"For what purpose?" Manfrey queried.

"There is no need for you to concern yourself with that. Do we have a deal?"

The beautiful man stood before her with his arm extended. Not fearing that her truth was faulty, Elia wondered if this man would be undeterred regardless of the outcome. He wanted her husband to pay, but what the young lord does not understand is that Elia desires that even more than he thinks he does.

Clasping the man's forearm as he takes her, their eyes meet, and at that moment, Elia could feel her first game piece move over the board.

”Now my Lord I have no doubt Lord Tully will accept such an alliance between the Stormlands and the Riverlands, but might I steer you to my brother Doran. He has a daughter—“ and splitting her gazes between Robert and his grandmother, “—and I believe you have a young grandson and brother.”

“An alliance such as that ties my grandson’s hands should you break faith.” Rhaelle tsked.

“Or perhaps another link might be in order to improve our opinions of each other.”

Elia countered.

Robert released a dark chuckle. “You are most definitely _NOT_ how I imagined you to be. I had heard of your kindness, gentleness, and wit...but I am now thinking that it is the folly of those who think that is only what you are.”

Elia demurred tilting her head to the side. Robert turned to his grandmother a smirk on his face.

“Shall we meet with the Prince of Dorne, Grandmother?”

A coolness crept into Rhaelle’s eyes as a tilt of her lips mirrored her grandson’s. 

“Yes, Robert. I think we should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Princess Rhaelle Targaryen**
> 
>   
> **Lord Robert Baratheon**
> 
> While yes Maggie Smith in her Downton Abbey dress is out of fashion, I head canon Maggie Smith being the only contemporary of Olenna Tyrell who could keep up with her.
> 
> I probably should let this chapter sit another night, but I’m not so please forgive and typos or slight continuity errors (😳🙄😜).


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the week-long delay, but I hope this chapter makes up for it. I have another crazy week coming up. I will try to get next week's chapter on Monday, but if not then by Wednesday (fingers crossed).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am just playing with them.

The conversation of an alliance between Dorne and the Stormlands was one Elia knew she could leave in her brother Doran's care. Especially considering it would be his daughter, and the next ruler of Dorne, that he would be arranging the marriage.

Arianne. Bold, clever, and willful Arianne.

Elia had a feeling her niece would not be a demure quiet Dornish ruler. As she traces her history back in time, Elia could never remember a ruling Dornish princess who embodied that. No. Ruling Dornish princess were not women to be trifled with. It would take much to make them cower.

A third son outside of the Dornish realm could only hope to achieve the hand of such a match. It is how young Renly's blood ties him to the throne, making his hand a viable option. Her son and Robert's daughter would make Arianne and Renly cousin and uncle to the next King and Queen.

As she sat in her garden, Elia's mind wandered back to the Stark brothers. She needed to speak to them. While they have had limited conversations since Eddard Stark's arrival, Elia knew that a heavy conversation was to come. Rising, she walks towards her solar and sat at her desk. She penned a note for the men requesting their presence in joining her at the Water Gardens in the late afternoon. Perhaps there, being in that place would help her approach their long-overdue conversation. Once she had sent off the letter, she informed her door guards to hold the response as she was planning to lay down for a bit and didn't wish to be disturbed.

In all truthfulness, Elia wasn't truly resting, but to those who were to see her, it would look as she had fallen asleep under the orange tree in her outdoor mejlis. It is in this space where she has found ways to study her gifts. As she seeks the water, Elia discovers how the plants and trees respond to her when she pulls water towards her and away from them. She can see and feel the water pulling away.

This responsiveness is not solely with flowers and plants, but as she moves water, she finds herself creating a map of sorts just like the veins on the back of a leaf sprawl outwards, starting with thick tubes until they thin out into tendril fingers. However, this map is grander, and it shows her how water moves across Westeros. What surprised her was not her awareness of the water she knows to exist, but it was the bodies of water that hides from view. 

Elia had sailed on the Greenblood as a child. She even journeyed on the river that flowed by Yronwood to Skyreach. As a young maiden, she walked along the Torrentine with Ashara as they spoke of their futures. What Elia hadn't known as she traversed these bodies of water was that they were all connected below the land of rock and sand that seemed to divide them.

These rivers were connected, but where they met was all hidden from view—well, not from Elia. If she closed her eyes, she could feel how they flowed into each other, in which direction the water moved, and where they entered or exited into the sea. This map of the waters didn't just end in Dorne. No. If Elia focused her energies, she could pull water away from the Mander in The Reach. Ever since the day she received word from the Tyrells of their decision not to come to Dorne, Elia has spent a couple of hours a day drawing water from their prize gardens. She has seen how the house whose motto is Growing Strong now has a home with dying roses. A foreshadowing of what could be should the Tyrells chose the wrong side, Elia thought.

Their lack of attendance does not bode well for the glorified stewards of House Gardener. While Elia does not blame their ancestor for saving his people in the face of a live dragon, she knows they benefited greatly from Aegon I. The family's cadet branch elevated when others had a better claim to holding the paramount title—others such as the Hightowers.

Yes, their flowers were dying. The beautiful flowers of reds, yellows, whites, and pinks drying up until they no longer could hold their petals on the stem. Some shattering into dust as they hit the ground. She has also begun to slowly pull water away from some of their prized unharvested crops. Not enough to damage, but enough that it is causing the farmers concern—a concern they have shared with their Reach lords. If people can't provide as they were once used to, they have less to contend with. If one does not have much, there is very little room for less. Should they continue to lose too much water with Lords unable to help them, well, that would not bode well for House Tyrell.

Elia considers the people who rely on the bounty of The Reach and wonders if perhaps the Westerlands might enjoy the ability to provide the food the realm needs if The Reach cannot provide. They may be rich in gold, but gold does not last forever—a fact Lord Tywin has masterfully hidden from all.

Elia pulls the water away little by little and returns it to the Mander as the river flows out into the sea. Soon they will receive another raven, and perhaps by then, they will choose to deign Elia and the rest of them with their presence.

Such use of her power away from the pool leaves her tired as though she was forced to remain awake for days. Though her eyes are closed, and her body is soft, Elia is not resting. No, this power—it comes with a price. For now, Elia thinks the cost of tiredness is worth it, but a part of her hopes that the true cost of using this power doesn't come too steeply. But one does not know what one does not know.

*****

Oberyn left his brother Doran to discuss the particulars of the alliance between his niece and Robert's brother. It seems as if Oberyn will be closer to home as Doran requested that Renly serves as his squire. It was too soon to determine if it was an odious task, but then he thought to his Obara and consider if the boy was a right prick he'd have his daughter sort him outright with a bit of repeated sparring.

As Oberyn walked past his sister's room, he saw a servant speaking to a house guard. The exchange was quiet but not secretive. It seems his sister extended an invitation to the Starks, but she asked the guards not to disturb her with the response. Hmmm...she must be...seeking, he thought.

Perhaps I should take the time to visit with the Stark brothers, Oberyn mused. He knew Elia has taken small peeks into the brother's alone time as she was focused on The Reach and the Tower. He also knew Elia wanted to give the men a moment to privately grieve their father. Considering Elia's position, Oberyn felt no compulsion to give the men any more privacy than they have had. Better to act and ask permission afterward, Oberyn made his way to Lord Brandon Stark's room.

Entering a door that served as a hidden passageway for those with a predilection for discovering secrets, they thought the ruler of Dorne should be aware of. A feature had in each chamber of the visitor's compound, and one Oberyn had notoriously taken advantage of as a child—as does his daughter Nym when she is in residence.

Oberyn kept himself still and quiet as he looked through the small opening in a wall that, to those on the other side, it seemed like a wall design of all kinds of mosaics tiles. Not sure what to expect, he did not think he anticipated the harsh whispered voices that emanated from the room.

"That bastard took our sister, Brandon. You said it yourself, Petyr Baelish told you he saw her being taken. You said the men who were escorting her were wounded, and she was gone."

"I know what I told you, but there is a part of me that wavers in my belief, Ned. I would never say it in front of none other, but Princess Elia seems so sure this septon will confirm the worst."

"Until we hear it from Lya, we must stand firm that she has done nothing wrong. Lya is many things. Willful for sure and perhaps less formal in the arts of womanhood than most women not of the North. I will not lie, Bran. If he was free to choose, I could see her throwing tradition to the wind and marrying the man. But she knows better than to give herself to a married man. She knows there is no honor in a man who would set aside his wife, who has born him children—one a son. Gods, she thinks Robert the scourge because he has a daughter out of marriage. Lya would _NOT_ do this.”

Oberyn was proud of his ability to hold the snort of derision that wanted to burst forth. Not for any other reason that the men were in for the surprises of their lives. Though hardened, there is a part of him that understands what it is to love one's sister and trust in what you know of her as your truth. If his own sister had ever acted out of character, then he would be hard-pressed to believe it. But alas, it is not his sister who is a participant in this folly. No, that dishonor goes to these men who, aside from their gruff unpolished demeanor, were easier to understand than, say, Robert.

The brothers had their heads bent towards each other. The new Lord of Winterfell had a large hand on his brother's shoulder. He nodded at Ned. Brandon's gaze so firm and sure, making his follow up to his brother's response unexpected. 

"But what if. We need to plan for the event we are wrong, Ned."

"Brandon! Are you not listening to me? There is nothing to..."

"I was beaten, Ned. I sat in the Black Cells because I went to the king as was my right as our father's heir to demand his son return our sister. In hindsight, perhaps my approach could have been a bit more Southeron, as I went to him in the Northern way. The King put me there. His actions killed my friend and wounded the others. He wanted my head. He killed our father, Ned. _He killed our father._ The Mad King didn't listen to father, while Northern he had a better sense of Southeron politics than me. What happened to me shouldn't have occurred. What happened to father is done, and it can't be altered no matter how we wish it. They called for your head, Brother. What I once knew to be true I have brutally learned can be unreliable, and I never want to be at the mercy of one who has the power to end all I know."

"But, Lya, Bran..." The younger man's voice trailed off.

"I will move in good faith that they are the ones in error. All I ask is that you work we me to decide what we should do _IF_ we find ourselves wrong. We lose nothing in acting so."

Oberyn noticed how the eldest brother tightened his grip on the younger. It made him remember times with Doran and when his brother would touch him just so. It was a simple request to stop fighting his elder brother and redirected his defiance into assistance. A plea that is only understood between siblings.

"You think that Princess Elia wants a resolution of sorts. We can't move forward if we don't know the truth, Bran."

Brandon shrugged and took a step away from his brother.

"I think she wants to convince me of her truth. She believes her husband and Lya ran away together. She believes there is a septon who has approved Lya's union."

"Why do you think she holds these ideas? Who has been feeding her ear?" Oberyn leaned in closer to hear the brothers better as their voices have dropped. Perhaps the dour Eddard Stark may be more aware of the world than Oberyn thought.

"I do not know. I had thought it was her brother..." Oberyn tensed upon hearing those words, "...but I heard from the young Glover that the Prince was traveling in Essos until recently. It could be her brother Doran, but that does not feel right either."

A deep breath fled the older Stark before he spoke.

"I do know, but perhaps as she and I speak, you might be able to find Ashara."

Releasing a pained groan only siblings can cause us to feel, Ned Stark glared at his brother and lord.

"Now is not the time to find Ashara. We must resolve this first. After this is done, she may not want anything to do with me, Bran. I will not use her. I dishonored her once before, and I will not do so again."

A deep bark of laughter left Brandon.

"I am not saying lay with her. Though might I remind you that she was a willing participant in her _dishonoring_ —as you well put it. You did not force her, nor did you seduce her. She gave you her virtue, Ned, and asked for nothing in return. Unlike me, you should not carry such guilt, brother."

The men stared at each other.

"All I was suggesting is since she is staying at the Water Gardens with Princess Elia's children, you haven't had a chance to see her. The woman cares for you deeply, Ned, and I doubt such a soul would want to see you in the turmoil you are in. Perhaps she can shed some insight on the situation. I will not force this and will defer to your judgment, but all I ask is you try to find clarity for us if you can, Brother."

Oberyn can feel his face morphing into a darkening expression. Hmmm...what a tangle you will find yourself in Ashara. While he knows Arthur has betrayed them, though Elia has shared that the man doesn't seem to agree with Rhaegar. He won't say so directly to the bastard. That mean's very little to Oberyn or the other men in his family. If Arthur has forsaken his honor for duty, will Ashara forsake her honor for love? It's not an unheard-of predicament, just not one he has found himself in personally. 

As Oberyn remembers observing Ashara's reaction to Elia's revelation, he recalls her face. This shame seemed to overtake her as she watched whatever scene Elia had transported the woman to. If he had to place a bet, he'd lay his money on Ashara love for Elia than on hers for Ned. Though to turn him away would profoundly wound her, he thought.

Seems all waited on the younger man's reply. A deep sigh alerted all that he had made a decision.

"Aye. I will speak with her, but I will not use any affections she may have or had to gain such favor. All I can swear to is asking her if she knows who is supply Princess Elia with such faulty news. That is all I can and will do, Brother."

Oberyn could see the young Lord nodding his head.

"Very well, brother."

"I suppose we can speak about what we would want for Father and for Lya though I cannot imagine what type of restitution would make this right, Bran."

"Nothing will, Brother, but it doesn't stop us from asking--and Lya? What if her truth is different from what we want to believe?"

The silence between the men stretched. Oberyn had a better view of Eddard Stark's face when he turned around to stand right before the wall Oberyn was hiding behind. The man was torn. That was evident. Better you entertain the notion, Young Stark. It will hurt marginally less if you do, Oberyn thought to himself.

Without returning to look at his brother, Eddard nodded as one word slipped from his lips.

"Aye"

Oberyn found a cold smile spreading across his face. Quietly leaning against the wall behind him, arms folded, and one leg crossed over the other—Oberyn settled as he watched the Starks finally began to play.

*****

They had arrived at the Water Gardens before sunset to a lovely dinner under the stars. Elia made sure rooms were made up for these men. She couldn't help but notice how unsettled Ser Barristan seemed to be. Elia called the knight to her and her uncle, who now took his post beside his sworn brother.

"Ser Barristan, my husband, it seems, has made his way to Dorne. I received word that he is on his way."

The expressed relief that fluttered so briefly over his visage made her want to smack him. Instead of letting her hand fly, she let her most gracious smile, which she reserved for court, spread across her face.

"That news must warm you a great deal, Princess Elia."

"Ah, yes. The awareness that he is in Dorne does invoke strong emotions." You probably could not guess what they are, Ser, Elia thought.

"I trust we will remain here, Princess."

"Yes, of course. We shall be reunited soon. He did say he planned to visit a few bannermen before his arrival. I imagine he knows we are in such capable care, which allows him to take his time, Ser Barristan."

The man dared to nod as though she spoke the grandest of truths. Mother Rhoyne save me from men with too much-blinded sense of self.

Elia had decided to wait until the next morning to approach the Starks. That evening she invited the Stark brothers to take a walk with her and Ashara in the morning. She wasn't surprised by their agreement.

That night she slept very little.

A lifetime of being late to sleep led to a late to rise way of being when one lived in Dorne. After marrying Rhaegar, she found her routine had changed to meet the demands of her husband's house as they were ordered to live in the Red Keep initially after they wed. Aerys always expected everyone to rise when he did, and for a man who rarely slept and who resides in a world of delirium and paranoia, all were made to rise obscenely early. However, when they left for Dragonstone, she adapted to another kind of new normal. Rhaegar would call her a creature of the night though she was supposed to be of the sun. It was a jest that once would bring a smile to her lips. Now the memory means very little, leaving nary a stir in her breast.

Lost in her thoughts, Elia barely heard a quiet knock at her outer chamber.

"Elia." A familiar feminine voice whispered as though protecting Elia's slumber should she be asleep.

Rising onto her side, she called out in reply.

"Come in, Ash."

The silhouette of the tall willowy beauty of Starfall walked towards her. Climbing onto the bed, she and Ash fell into the habit of turning towards each other under the light-weighted blankets on her bed.

"So, how was it? To finally see him."

Elia could see Ashara squeeze her eyes shut as she shook her head.

"I thought that perhaps I remembered him differently. We were at the tourney. We all behaved a little bit out of character..."

In the darkness, Elia could see Ashara wince at her choice of words.

"El, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Ash. The tourney. I get it. For a moment, you could be different—free."

"Yes. I thought perhaps I misread him, but after seeing him. His eyes, they don't lie, Elia. They are what drew me to him at the start. Ned looked at me today like he did then."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?"  
"I thought so, but I know what I know. My brother has played a part in his sister's ruination. How could he still want me after all is revealed."

Elia took Ashara's hands into her own. She brought their hands to her heart, and she rested her forehead against her oldest friend.

"You have done nothing wrong, Ash. His sister chose to throw her name away, and your brother chose to protect her choice to do so. That is neither of your faults. You aren't to blame for Arthur's fall from grace any more than he is responsible for his sister, putting Arthur in that position. When it comes to your sibling, you should not carry their actions as though they are an extension of your own. You love him still, yes?"

Feeling the other woman nodding against her crown, Elia felts a small smile pull at her lips.

"Then, maybe it is not too late for you and him."

"Should I tell him about the babe?"

Lifting her head away, Elia pressed her lips together as she thought about the day Ash bled her child away. The loss prompted her to leave to Dorne for a bit, but she returned as Elia furthered along in her own pregnancy with Aegon. Such a true friend. If Elia could pave the way to Ash and Ned reuniting, then she would. They would be good for each other.

"I think such a secret has a way of making itself known. Do you keep the truth to spare him the awareness that his actions at the tourney came with unintended consequences or to soften your own pain?"

The silence stretched as Elia waited for her friend's response.

"He's such a good man, El. I think I do it spare him because the pain of losing our babe is always there."

"I think you know what you should do," Elia whispered.

Finding comfort in each other, Elia turned to her side as Ashara spooned behind her. Both women slowly drifting to sleep as their breaths fell and rose in tandem.

*****

The Starks were early risers, and Elia found herself and Ashara ready to meet them. Elia walked beside Lord Brandon while Ned and Ashara were several decreet steps behind. Knowing, courtesy of Oberyn, Brandon asked Ned to inquire from Ash where Elia gathered her intel.

Elia shared this with Ashara, for she didn't want to leave her unprepared for such a question. In truth, she had little concern for what Ash would or could reveal as Elia decided that her approach with the Starks would answer the questions they had.

If she were honest with herself, she understands why Lord Brandon seems terse towards her. It's not like they were here visiting under the best of circumstances—a monarch and her lord. As they began to approach _her pool_ , Elia sent Ashara a subtle gesture that cued her friend to keep Ned Stark's full attention.

As they slowly made their way to the thicket of long-stemmed plants, Elia took one more look at the Northern man before she proceeded.

"Lord Stark, I must say, much to my chagrin, that I wasn't well-versed in the Gods of the North, but from what I do remember, I thought their expectations seemed a bit more realistic that the requirements of the Sevens."

The man's expression shifted, and a bark of muffled laughter escaped him as they walked under the fronds.

"I have no qualms saying it's your Southeron Gods that have all these rules. The Old Gods are simple in their needs, and we in the North are simple in our wants. It is a fair arrangement and suits both Old Gods and Man well as long as we tend to them with fidelity."

Gesturing for the man to sit on under the canopy in a simple highbacked chair, Elia sat across from him on a chaise covered in pillows.

Thinking about her own Gods—the Mother Rhoyne, The Old Men...she found a heavy amount of truth in the man's words. Two servants arrived with refreshments—trays of fruit, nuts, and lemon bars, as well as a decanter of Dornish dry wine.

"There is something to be said in support of your claim. You will soon marry into a Southron house. It is my understanding that the young woman is very devout, as is her father."

A sly smile crosses his lips.

"Aye, Catelyn. She's lovely, and as you said—earnest in her faith."

"May I ask how do you foresee your union progressing with such opposing views."

Watching as the man's brow furrowed in confusion, Elia wondered if possibly she misspoke. She knew she was indelicate, but at this point, with her husband and his sister, it seems as though they have found a new kind of comfortability in indelicacy.

With a shrug, Lord Brandon continued.

"I do not see them as opposing, per se, but it need not matter. She is free to have her faith, but any children from our union will be of the North. The Old Gods are our gods. There is no other way for a Stark."

Taking a chance, Elia thought she found her opening.

"The same can be said for a Nymeros Martell, but very few are away of that fact."

"Do you follow the Old Gods? I did not think that was a possibility this far south. If you do not, then I think you may have lost me, Princess Elia."

Sharing a smile, Elia shook her head.

"No, not the Old Gods. My people have the gods they came to Dorne with when they left the Rhoyne, though very few outside of Dorne consent to recognize them. They keep the people of Dorne and me safe, and for that protection, we must keep to our devotion to them."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Though rare, some of us are even graced with a small bit of their divine. A gift or talent that might seem better suited to a deity than to a man or a woman. Do your gods offer such gifts to their humble devotees?"

Those Stark gray eyes bore into her own, but she didn't look away. She couldn't afford to. Brandon Stark knows a truth that only firstborn sons are ever told. While many in the North know that their history has seen greenseers and wargs, rarely are they ever seen leaving old men and women to reduce their existence into stories told to the young. The firstborn is told of their true existence for a reason, just as descendants of the Kings of Winter are raised knowing there must always be a Stark at Winterfell.

Elia's eyes watched as the man threw back his head as he drank his glass in one long pull. Wiping his mouth with his hand, Brandon Stark pinned her with an unreadable gaze, but she could feel the man pulsing with the need to pace. A hot-blooded wolf he truly is.

"Aye. Our gods have been known to pass on the gifts of greenseers and wargs."

"I imagine such gifts must have been granted to a few Starks of the past. For 8,000 years, you were The Kings of Winter until Aegon I flew to Winterfell. I imagine your ancestors were well-versed in leading the North being as it is very unique in its approach to life. When all kings fought, yours knelt."

Brandon stood quickly, almost knocking his chair over. His anger vibrating, creating echos of his vibration that anyone near could feel.

"Do you bring me here to try to shame me by ancestor's actions? He saved our people."

Elia motioned to the guards and Ashara, who had come with Ned to leave her and Lord Stark—that all was well. Even though she knew she didn't feel it, but she trusted in Mother Rhoyne to soldier on.

"No, Lord Stark, I think you may have misunderstood the intent behind my words. You come from a long line of kings who would not be defined as passive. Wolfs-blood for most. The house that tamed the North. The one place no one could hold, well, not without the help of the Starks. Even Aegon, I knew that. Your family did not get the title and the respect that it has because you are better in the art of negotiating with your fellow Northerners. No. You won your seat at the top by being as ruthless as Aegon I was. The difference was he had dragons and the Starks—well, you had your network of faithful counselors who saw more than anyone could have ever imagined."

"I still don't understand what the point is of this conversation, Princess."

Elia knew she had to be as blunt as she could as subtly would not work with Lord Brandon.

"Pardon me, Lord Stark. I was just trying to ascertain if you believed that there are people, men, and women, who have been given gifts by the gods to see or do the unexplainable."

Expelling a long breath as he returned to his chair, Brandon's eyes pierced her with his gaze, but she held it. Nodding at her, he spoke so calmly that she found herself imagining the last few minutes of their conversation.

"Aye, I do believe. One of my brother's oldest friends is a greenseer. He's a good man."

"Do you think that those blessed with these gifts should use them?"

"If they seek to protect, I do not see why not? I trust the Gods know why they gave such abilities, but it is not up to me to the question the Gods—regardless if they are my Gods or yours."

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Elia rose to stand in front of Lord Brandon with her hand extended. The man looked at her hand and gave her an odd expression.

"I know you are curious as to how I know what I know regarding Rhaegar and Lyanna. I know you question why I believe it so ardently. It is not my intent to mislead you in any way, but if you truly want to know, then I will show you."

"Show me?" His confusion dripped from each word.

"Yes. All you have to do is take my hand."

"This is highly improper, Princess. If I am making this distinction, then you should be concerned about how this could be viewed."

They stared at each other for a long time before the man stood. Elia never wavered. She just waited. From his great height, he looked down at her hand before reaching for it with her own.

Turning, Elia slowly walked into the pool. She kept Brandon standing on the pool's dry edge as she stood in water that covered her ankles and feet. Reaching for his other hand with her own, Elia closed her eyes and traveled with Lord Brandon Stark through his past—from boy to man. She even took him to see his father exchange with her cousin before his arrest.

Opening her eyes, she saw the rounded gray eyes on Lord Stark. Shock, confusion, with a hint of fear, bled through his eyes before she shuttered them shut. The man looked at the water that she absorbed as it moved off of him and towards her.

"You are a kind of greenseer, but one that uses water. In the North, ours use the weirwood trees. In the end, you both do the same thing." Elia still was not sure if she heard awe or fear--perhaps it was a tinge of both. Her Rhoynish Goddess knows she was scared the first time she traveled into the past.

Releasing the Lord's hand and exiting the pool, Elia gestured that they return to their seat. She took a sip of her own wine before reaching for a sliced fig.

"I suppose so."

"You sent your Uncle to get me. You sent your cousin to warn my father."

"I tried to help. I truly am sorry about your father, Lord Stark."

The Northerner turned away from her and stared across the pool. This gaze capturing nothing as the man was stuck in his own mind with his own thoughts for company.

"I can see why you hold on so tightly to your truth regarding your husband and my sister."

Wetting her lips, Elia found herself averting her eyes. She wondered if the young Lord wanted to see his sister. If he did, then he would have to ask her for it. 

"Do you believe in your Gods, Lord Stark?"

"Aye. I do."

"My Gods are angry. They are insulted by my husband's acts. Your sister may have been unwittingly charmed into falling for my husband, but now I do not think that my God's care, and I must admit neither do I."

The man's face darkened as his gaze swung towards her.

"Before you defend her once again. Consider my Lord, that you have people who will look to you for direction on how to move forward. If your sister married before the Old Gods, knowing the man she married was wedded to another, do you think they would be angry too?"

Brandon didn't speak. He leaned forward as his forearms rested on his knees.

One hoarsely said word response, "Aye."

Nodding in acknowledgment, Elia rose and crouched down to catch the man's attention.

"Then consider, just consider, if she broke the rules of your faith—not that of a God she doesn't care for, but your gods and they were angry, do you think you and your people should suffer the wrath of the Old Gods."

Brandon's look down, but Elia could see that the man was in deep thought.

"I do not love your sister. I do not care for her. But I understand the love of a sibling—especially when your love for them is strong. We don't live in a world where we can choose to live a simple life where our fate is held by simple rules. We are not just ourselves. We are part of a house, and that means something. You know this. Our world is bound by our alliances. It's okay to love her, even if you are pained by her actions. Just don't let that love for her come at the cost of your people. You are no longer just the heir to Winterfell. Now you are Lord Brandon Stark, Warden of the North. You are bigger than just her brother."

"If the tides were different. If you were Lya, would Doran let you drift?"

Elia shook herself as she rose. Stretching her sore muscles.

"If I ran away with a married man and broke my betrothal, then I would have to pay some price. Depends on the families that were wronged. I would probably be married off to a lesser son of a good house. But if I had the audacity to runaway with a married man, then perhaps my brother would exile me to Essos for surely a woman with such command could see to her own security in an unfamiliar land. Now, if I wanted to leave my husband to his follies, my brother would send me away to Essos, of that I am sure. But either option keeps his people safe, and I am still held to my expectation--marriage, exile, or protection. In one scenario, I did not do my duty, and in the other, I did. Consider all this before you decide your sister's fate?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ashara enter with Ned.

"I hope we can keep the revelations shared today to the confines of this space."

A bark of laughter escaped the man before her. Shaking his head as he looked at her. Elia wishes she knew what he was thinking.

"Rest assured, Princess Elia, nary a person would believe me if I did wish to share."

Nodding in acceptance that she would have to trust the man at his word.

"I wish you a good day, Lord Stark."

"And to you, Princess Elia."

Just as Elia turned away, Ashara came up to her with a letter in her hand. Elia opened it quickly to find her brother Doran's hand. Before Elia left The Reach she sent a prayer to Mother Rhoyne to help the seas to move faster. It seems her wish was granted. Looking up at Ashara, a silent message passed between them. The time had come.

"It seems the rest of our parties have arrived. It appears as though Lords Tully, Lannister, and Hightower are settling into Sunspear as I speak."

The Stark brothers shared a silent communication of their own. The young man nodding to the older. Their twin gazes fell on her once again. Her eyes never wavered from Lord Brandon as she shared the remaining bit of news enclosed by her brother.

"As well as our men who brought High Septon Maynard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Elia's mejilis at Sunspear**
> 
>   
> **This is the type of wall mosaic that Oberyn would have hidden behind.**
> 
>   
> **Elia's special pool at the Water Gardens**


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own this series. I am playing with GRRM's creation, even though I know he doesn't like it when we play with his toys. 
> 
> I probably should not have published this today. I should probably sit on this, but if I didn't write and post today I could promise when this chapter would get out. I hope I don't regret it...or you. :P

_A wolf, a falcon, a lion, a stag, a fish, and a building on fire find themselves seated for a meal with a nest of vipers in the land of the sun._

As Doran's eyes scanned the visitors seated around the table, he wonders for a moment if his brother or younger cousins have heard of a bawdy joke with such a beginning. Knowing his family well enough, he was sure they did.

Lifting a goblet of wine to his lips, Doran's eyes glanced imperceptibly at the men surrounding him.

The wolf, or rather wolves, sat across from his wife. The brothers' Stark. While their faces seemed to share a familiarity, one man's visage seemed ready to pounce as the other reflected a pensive demeanor.

Eyes sliding to the right sat a single bird, but not just any bird—a bird of prey. As honor was a way of life for the Arryn, a falcon was no mere animal. It has the power to strike paralyzing fear into the heart of those smart enough to know they are its target. The older man's eyes were beginning to do a sweep of their own, cueing Doran to take a sip of his drink.

Resting the cup carefully before him, his eyes flitted over The Lion. Let there be no mistake that while the Lannisters are lions—Tywin is the one to fear and watch. A man who would wipe out a house of his bannerman is not a man to be trifled with. This is a man who does not bluff. No. Lord Lannister is the one Elia would need to cut at the knees as soon as she had what she needed from him because the man will do the same to her.

Doran remembers the vision and how his beloved sister's death came to be. Tywin saw to it that she and her children were defiled and slaughtered, feigning ignorance at the misdeed. Never bringing the men to trial for it. No, Lord Lannister, you will not have my family. Not today, not ever.

The Prince of Dorne has his reservations about Robert, but he could tell Robert's heart was full of anger and vengeance. Elia and her children were a cost he didn't care about as long as he saw the Targaryens gone. Having Rhaelle still alive helps mitigate the potential for this man to destroy his family. He wonders if news of war was what killed the woman for she seems strong in body and spirit.

Reaching for a grape, the Dornishman caught the tail end of the conversation between Lord Tully the Septon. A rather dour topic of building a new sept in the Riverlands. Doran wondered if this Septon would live long enough to see it erected.

To his left, he could see his sister in conversation with Lord Hightower and his son, Baelor. As they sat, ate, and drank, Doran wished that fate had been kinder to Elia by bestowing approval to her matched with the next Lord of the Hightower. Still somewhat mourning his wife's death, the man had a glimmer of warmth in his gaze as he spoke charmingly to his sister.

Only if things were different, he thought. Nevertheless, they were not, and the time had come to deal in realities.

Clearing his throat, a sign to all that a conversation was to begin.

"I guess enough time has passed that one would not accuse Dorne of not receiving you graciously."

The barely disguised aversion Tywin seems to have towards the Dornish was held at bay as his eyes made their best attempt at boring through Doran.

"We came to see the Prince, and yet we are greeted by the man accused of treason by the King and his kin."

"Neither Stark is treasonous. I caution you to watch your words, Lannister." Robert's words held barely contained violence.

"Lord Brandon Stark did not speak of treason. He went to uphold the honor of his family when he left the Riverlands. Why do you judge any man so harshly, Lord Tywin? I have more cause to, and yet I do not." Lord Arryn shook his head. What his man must think—must feel? Doran could only imagine. The loss of his heir and the last piece of his brother still remaining. The Prince delicately shook his head in dismay.

"True, Lord Brandon didn't speak treason as I did hear the words of my former ward Petyr Baelish. Nevertheless, I still hold you were reckless to go when you had. I warned you to wait for your father and let your Lord handle the matter."

Doran's eyes observed the exchange, as did Lords Tywin and Leyton Hightower. Sadly, Doran knows what they do not, and that was the fate of the late Lord Rickard Stark as the men were out at sea when news spread across the realm. Doran, while no fan of the Stark sister, understands the loss of a parent, but even he could never boast of knowing what it felt to lose a parent so violently...and for what.

The Prince of Dorne heard the sharp drop of cutlery and the sharp inhalation of his sister. He turns to look at her, both understanding the importance of this moment. It wasn't Elia or any Martell who spoke, but rather the newest Stark Lord.

"A regret I will take with me until I die, Lord Hoster. Never did I imagine the King's reaction when I made my way to the Red Keep."

"Hmmm. You didn't think the King would disagree with your accusations against the Crown Prince. What were these treasonous words you spoke?"

The silence was deafening.

"I didn't think the King would throw me in the Black Cells. I most definitely did not foresee him killing my father in a false trial. But I suppose horrible things do truly happen in clusters of three, as I would never have thought the Crown Prince would have stolen my sister when she was en route to Riverrun for my wedding."

The table erupted, and Doran wasn't surprised to see Lannister react the least to the news.

"My Gods!" Shouted the Hightowers as they look towards each other and then towards Elia.

"The King killed Lord Rickard!" The old man of Oldstones paled as he looked at each person at the table.

"The Prince has stolen the Stark girl." Baelor Brightsmile murmured, his eyes turning to look at Elia. His sister held her head high, but he noticed how she pursed her lips. A small action he had seen his mother do many a time when she needed to fortify herself.

"Aye, he did, Hightower!" Robert grunted.

"What do you mean he killed your father? What trial?" Lord Hoster blustered.

Doran gestured for his maester to bring the raven with the news that announced the death. He passed it to the Fish Lord and measured the man as he read the raven aloud.

"A Trial by Sevens with a champion being wildfire." Lord Arryn closed his eyes as Ned Stark repeated a line from the letter.

"I thought wildfire was a myth." Lord Leyton questioned.

"Well, there is an odd guild that does work with the element. I am not surprised the King is aware of who they are. Fire and the ability to harness it would be something of great interest to him." The Old Lion eyes began to lose the initial span of shock.

"It was I who brought you here. I know I used Prince Rhaegar's sigil and made the letter look like his words, but I did so because I did not think you would come otherwise." Elia spoke. Her voice gently but firm.

"Fair assessment, Princess. I would not have." Tywin spat.

"I hope once I have spoken, you will feel differently." Elia tilted her head in acknowledgment of the man's words.

"I will speak plainly, for I think enough of your time has been used by me with you having little say. That is not a feeling I much enjoy, and I imagine as Lords of the realm you are used to it even less."

"My husband is currently in Dorne. He made his way from the Riverlands with Lady Lyanna, and two houses nearest the Prince's Pass has confirmed they are indeed here."

The men looked at each other. Aside from the Starks, there seemed to be a rise in pitying gazes towards his sister—well, all except Lannister, but then the man is an ass, Doran thought.

Lord Leyton sent Elia a gentle smile, "I may disapprove of such relationships, Princess. My feelings on such _alliances_ are not acceptable among the Hightowers. Still, for the Prince—it's disappointing that he takes a mistress and poor taste to do so publicly, but it isn't unusual."

Doran had to refrain from rolling his eyes. There is some truth to his words as he turns his daughter over to the Faith because she had given herself to his uncle.

"My sister is not his mistress. The bastard Prince—"

"He stole Lyanna. She was to be my—"

"Married her."

All heads swung to take in the High Septon Maynard.

"What!" Hoster cup of Dornish red slipped from his fingers.

"That is not bloody possible. The man is married still." Jon Arryn leaned forward as if he were to reach for the Septon.

"Who claims they have wedded? By what right." Tywin's eyes gleamed, but Doran couldn't tell if it was in glee or disbelief.

"No..." Whispered Robert, but it sounded as loud as two swords coming together.

"Not by our Gods." Brandon rose, and all eyes took in the massive man.

Ever the Queen she was made into, Elia gazed at the Wild Wolf of Winterfell. "It is an interesting tale we can all listen to." Turning her political smile towards the High Septon, she waved for the man to answer the questions set before them.

Doran would not want to be him, but then the man was made of flesh and not divine. There was only so much the most devout could withstand—kings, princes, and gods. The Septon's reason was unfortunate...for him. Not his problem, though, for Doran's life took a different path.

"The Prince and I have been in private communication for many years. In our correspondence, he had shared some of the atrocities that were occurring in the Red Keep. Events that were beyond the acceptability of a King."

"What does this have to do with marriage?" Baelor demanded.

"When he came to me and demanded that I meet him on the Ilse of Faces, I had not thought to deny him. When I arrived on the island, he was there with Lady Lyanna and two of his Kingsguard."

The older man averted the glares of the men at the table. Elia sat stoically with her gaze set on something beyond this realm, he considered.

"The prince told me that he was now free to remarry and wish to do so in the ways of his new bride. I am the man of the Faith and acquainted with the way of the Old Gods as well. I wasn't required, but I stayed and oversaw the marriage."

"He told you Princess Elia died." Lord Arryn pressed.

"No, not outright. I realize that now. I made a jump, and clearly, I was wrong. But why would I question Prince Rhaegar? We know him to be a good man. I knew he had grown fond of his wife. Our correspondence spanned before his marriage to now. He told me how ill his wife was and his fear that she would not recover. I never doubted his sincerity. Yes, he had shared his expressed interest in Lady Lyanna. I never thought to question him when he said he was free to marry. I thought the Princess had died, and the Prince's only crime was of ill timing." The older man looked completely lost.

"Well, you have heard the words from the High Septon." Elia's voice pulled all attention back to her.

Her gaze settled on the Starks. 

"I know you will want to speak to your sister to confirm for yourselves what you have heard."

"As for the rest of you, there is much you need to decide." Elia took a deep breath before leaning forward. Doran found himself leaning back to stand as a support for his strong little sister. How she has grown.

"The King is mad. He is killing Wardens and Lord Paramounts by warping the rules we have under the Faith. Who do you think will champion for you when the realm knows the challenger? This will not remain a secret. It's here in that raven. Which one of you thinks they can defeat wildfire?"

"Your heirs are no safer. Let us be honest, King Aerys started collecting heirs when he took Jaime Lannister into the Kingsguard with nary a word to you, Lord Tywin." Doran's gaze shifted to his sister, and he noticed her hiked brow as she stared the older man down.

"He may have imprisoned Lord Brandon for speaking out of turn, but he also took Lord Jon's heir, and the young man has died from injuries he sustained at the hands of your King." The Prince of Dorne noticed the shift in his sister's voice as well as her gaze as she spoke to the Lord of the Vale."

"Let's not forget he still wants you, Lord Brandon, as well as your heir, Eddard. Oh, and Lord Robert, too for having the poor luck of being betrothed to the girl—nothing more."

Sitting up and grasping the right hand of the Riverland Lord, Elia exclaimed, "Will you wait for him to come for your son, Lord Hoster."

The older man began to speak about being loyal to House Targaryen.

"Please do not preach loyalty to me, for one would argue Lord Tywin and House Lannister have been keenly devout in their allegiance and look where it has gotten the good Lord."

Leaning back, Elia's voice changes direction as she addressed the Hightowers.

"Now, Lord Leyton, you are not the Lord Paramount of The Reach, but perhaps you could be."

All eyes fell on Elia.

"We have a King who has no qualms about killing you or ending your houses by either commandeering or murdering your legacies. Add on a Crown Prince who has set an example of breaking wedded alliances between Houses and a High Septon who has allowed it."

"Let's be honest if my husband is allowed to run wild with such ideals, then how will any alliance hold. How much value would a marriage be if a Lord could have competing allegiances? Our world is built on these alliances. The small folk will not stand for it. The Faith nor the people stood for it when Maegor tried to have more than one wife. They defied him and he had a dragon. We have even less of a worry now. We cannot allow such a man to wield the power of King."

"What you speak of is treason, Princess Elia." Lord Hoster murmured.

"Let her speak it." A dead voice cut through Hoster's attempt at denial. This was the first words utter by the Stromland Lord since the revelation that his dear Lyanna truly left of her own free will.

Seems his sister would take the opening offered.

"Perhaps it is my Lord, but when wars break out because the realm has become even more fractured and Blackfyre Rebellions on smaller scales waged by Snows, Hills, Rivers, Flowers, Waters, Sands, and Stones. Who will suffer then? Your legacy. Your people who make you a person of value—those you lead and protect...all will suffer if you don't take a stand against Aerys and Rhaegar now."

Looking over to the Hightowers, Doran noticed his sister lean in slowly as she spoke to the men.

"How will the Faith feel about you Lord Leyton as the Tyrells are loyal to the Targaryen on the throne. You deal in trade, not war, and the Faith is at your doorstep. Which side would you rather be on?"

Father and son looked at each other, and only a blind man could have missed the conversation between them.

"Did you reach out to Lord Tyrell? He is my good-son, and I must admit I find it hard to act against him as he is married to my daughter. As you just said—alliances matter."

"I have, but they declined to come. I had hoped since you had accepted the invite and they are your family as well that they too would have accepted the summons."

"Perhaps I can speak to them."

"Yes, you could. But keep in mind the offer to be given the Paramount is available along with the generous support from the Crown on selecting a new High Septon. I believe you have a nephew whose name has been mentioned on many occasions as a good replacement for High Septon Maynard once he no longer can continue his duties."

All eyes turned to the older man. Yes, holy man, perhaps you can spend the end of your days in Oldtown or in some quiet sept in a small village.

"I called you here, and not a Great Council because aside from the Crown, you are the Houses that all smaller Houses in your regions will look to when war comes, for it will come if we cannot find some sort of agreement now. We can contain this my Lords and bound ourselves through alliances to protect our interest."

No one spoke as Elia's words echoed between them.

Lord Tywin's deep breath broke the silence.

"What do you propose?"

"I have a son and heir. He is healthy, and he has the Targaryen look. The realm has an odd sense of security in that. They want Targaryens though we know they can be unpredictable. I will raise a son meant to rule—to lead the realm and not only for himself. I will raise a man who will heed the council and will search for their advice before deciding to act."

"Do you mean to kill Prince Rhaegar?" Lord Leyton shouted.

"No. But we can limit his power as he has deemed himself untrustworthy in his princely duties."

The men seemed guarded still but more inclined to listen upon hearing that Rhaegar would not be killed. Little do they know the Martell's promise to uphold that truth, perhaps not in the way the realm would have expected.

"To do so. We need to make some alterations to a few things. I imagine you require payment in order to move forward. So, here is what I can offer in return for your help."

Doran took a long pull of his drink as Elia proceeded without pause.

"I would change the formation of the small council. My son can't know what is happening throughout the realm if only 4 or 5 people, some within the same region, are seated at the table to speak for all. I asked that each of you sends one person to represent your homelands on the council. These men or women will be your eyes and ears. Through them, you influence the King. Now I will sway Rhaegar to agree to these changes. I am sure the death of his father and the reason why will move him towards meeting as many of our requests as he can."

"Lord Stark, you have asked that the King be tried for the crime of killing your father without cause." Elia turned to the High Septon. "I am sure we can rely on you, Septon Maynard, to call on the Faith Militant to try the King for taking the sanctity of the Faith's trials in vain."

The religious man nodded.

"Yes, Princess."

"Lord Stark, I give you King Aerys head."

"That will have to do for my father, but not what your husband has done with Lya."

"Hmmm...keep in mind Lord Stark, it seems your sister was willing, though Prince Rhaegar should have acted differently. The Prince has an income of his own and an inheritance that should pay towards the price of his acts. It may not bring back your sister's honor--"

"--or our father." Eddard Stark countered.

"No, it won't, but it would behoove you to save some of your anger for your father's death and the unnecessary worry you have had regarding your sister and her honor and focus that energy on her contributions. Again, she may be young, but she is of marital age. She knew better than to leave with him regardless of what he told her. I could have been dead and buried, and she still should not have left with him. It is not our way. She knew to tell your Father and yet she didn't."

Returning her attention to Brandon, Doran noticed Elia's soft breath.

"I give his coins and the income from Dragonstone for ten-years. It should be enough to perhaps add a healthy bounty to the North's coffers or rebuild Moat Cailin."

The Stark brothers traded hardened looks, but Doran found it difficult to weigh where their thoughts swayed.

"I encourage, but not demand, that you reach out to Lord Dayne and inquire as to his sister's hand in marriage--"

"Wait one minute! Brandon is sworn to my Catelyn." Hoster hollered.

Elia looked at the blustering Lord. "—for your brother Eddard. A Dornish face may assist in preparing the North."

Now Brandon leaned into the table.

"And what may I be preparing the North for?"

Elia paused. Doran knew what was to come. They had spoken of it, and he knew it pained her to do this to make this choice. The water hinted that all would be well should she take this path.

"My daughter. I propose a match between my daughter and your eldest son."

Doran could see varying degrees of emotions gracing the men's faces at the table. Knowing Oberyn, Manfrey, and Leo were secretly taking it from the walls as well.

Under the quiet demeanor, the lion and the falcon were still.

The spreading smile on the fish told him the Riverland Lord was pleased to have his future grandson tied to the throne by marriage.

The Hightowers once again engaged in a silent conversation.

"Looks like we might be a brother of a kind, I suppose." Robert barked with a cutting laugh.

Elia nodded.

"I guess in a way. I offered a marriage between Aegon and a daughter of House Baratheon."

The Lion leaned forward slightly, an act both Dornish siblings noticed an acknowledgment they made as they turned to each other.

"Who is this new bride, Baratheon?" Lord Arryn asked. A part of Doran was grateful it was this man and not Hoster or Tywin.

"I heard you have a younger daughter, Lord Hoster."

"I have a daughter as well. A beauty raised to be a Queen." All eyes turned to Lannister. "But alas, a high lord will do as the post is currently filled, of course."

"Yes, you do, but the Riverlands are closer to the Stormlands. Should we need to raise our banners for the other, we'd have The Crownlands and The Reach in our way. No, I'd prefer to know more about this second daughter, Lannister."

"Lord Tywin, knowing how unfairly King Aerys has treated his Kingsguard and how the Kingsguard are forced to put their oath to the King over their oath to knighthood. Many have stood by over the years as they have listened to the innocent and weak as they have been abused by King Aerys."

Elia stopped and stared at the man. It looked as if his sister willed the man to truly hear her words. The older man's jaw worked hard to find composure.

"I have decided to change the terms of a Kingsguard. A knight may never be a member of the Kingsguard. The order of knighthood being a model for bravery, thoughtful, chivalrous, and true should be respected just as a holy man or woman who takes their vows. But unfortunately, one can never know who they are giving their oath to. Therefore, I will release the current Kingsguard of their vows. They can ask to retake them, but that decision will be left up to the council. I would also put a term on the post and a caveat that if the Kingsguard is asked to break from their vows of knighthood, then they can leave the guard."

"The Kingsguard has been as it is since Queen Visenya established it." Lord Arryn disputed.

"Yes, and perhaps that worked better in that time, but now—we must adapt to the change in the world. Look at Essos. I might not be looking to introduce slavery, but they are richer than we are, and that is due to their willingness to adapt."

The Falcon Lord took a large hand and ran it across his mouth. Doran could see dregs of attractiveness the man once held, but he lost sight of the trace when he saw the man's mouth of missing teeth as he grimaced.

"Lord Tywin, I will offer you your son back. I will return some of what King Aerys stole from you."

Once again, there was a pause and a silent exchange between Elia and the Old Lion.

"You can have your true heir back and perhaps a marriage alliance with the Vale."

The older man's piercing stare could have killed his sister if thoughts had the power to do so.

"Who would you propose?" Arryn questioned.

"The daughter of one of your loyal bannerman. I believe Lord Royce has a daughter, Myranda, yes?"

"She is a girl of 6."

"That is too young." Lord Tywin's lip curled in disdain.

"Is it? And here I was going to suggest a marital match between Lord Baelor and your daughter, and dare I say, there are over 10 years between them. Consider it my Lord, an alliance with the Vale and The Reach. I hate to be indelicate, but the military might of one and the wealth of another—especially if the Hightower's become the newest Paramount Lords of The Reach. A position that can be taken and given at the will of the Crown."

Doran noticed how Elia reached for Baelor Brightsmile's hand.

"I know you grew to love your wife, but you don't deserve a fate of loneliness, my friend. You are also a good man, and that is a rarity. I would know. Be a good husband for another woman. I am sure Rowan would agree."

The man who aimed to woo his sister in another life covered her hand with his own. He turned to his father and gave one short nod.

"Lord Lannister, give your son time to take the reins of running Casterly Rock. By the time he can do it well, I am sure he will be ready to marry the young Myranda. Though I am not averse to you finding another suitable young lady."

"It seems as though all are being attended to, but I."

"I find myself at a loss as to what I could offer you to make any attempt at amends, Lord Jon."

Elia looked at Doran, and he nodded that she should offer what she had. They trusted in Mother Rhoyne and her guidance. They will have to remain vigilant evermore, but they could make these overtures for they could see and know these men's intention.

"While you do still have an heir from a close but distant line, the Arryn name will prevail—Mother willing. Your reputation proceeded you, Lord Arryn. It is with this recognition that I ask that you serve as the Hand of the King." 

What they were truly asking the man was if he would be Prince Aegon's Regent until he is of age to rule as King, but the fate of Rhaegar was only known to the Nymeros Martells.

"Princess Elia, I hadn't expected such a request."

"I know, and in all honesty, I never thought I would pose any of these requests or offerings to you. I had never considered that my path, but it seems due to the King and the Prince, we are all left traversing on the journey of another which has brought us to a break in the road."

"You have offered must for us to consider, Princess." Lord Leyton posited.

"If you are still up for a pint or so, Lord Hoster, perhaps we can speak some more." Robert offered

"I understand if you would like some time to consult and digest. I have given you much to consider."

The men began to rise, and one by one, they began to leave the dining mejlis. The older men were seasoned enough to keep their thoughts off their faces. As Tywin began to exit, Elia called out.

"Lord Tywin, perhaps you and I can speak further on the morrow. I think there may be an additional incentive for earning your cooperation."

The glacial expression fluttered for a moment with curiosity. Ever the damn cat, Doran thought.

Just as the Starks began to depart, his sister who sounded so much like their mother when she was in her element as the Princess of Dorne, called out to the men.

"Lord Stark, have you decided upon what you will give me for your sister's involvement in my plight."

The big man swung around, his brother mimicking the same action—it was innate as siblings can sometimes be.

Sighing deeply, Brandon remains immovable.

"Would it be helpful if I told you what I want?"

The brother shared a look.

"Don't look so stricken. I don't want her head if that is what you are thinking."

Returning to Doran and Elia, Brandon rested his large hands on the back of the chair he was seated in before.

"What do you want?"

"Hmmm...like you, I was raised to learn the rules of combat."

The Northmen's eyes rose in doubt. Elia released a soft laugh.

"Not your kind of combat. Combat of the mind. Combat of politics. I was raised as a Princess, not just a High Lord or Lady's daughter. I was raised as royalty. Before me are a series of maneuvers that leave me with limited choices regarding your sister. She comes not to me as a mere girl, but as a woman with the power—and a womb, to take away my children's legacy. You see, I can't afford to see your sister as anything other than an enemy—regardless if she is acting with intent or simply by ignorance."

"I'll ask again. What do you want?" The burr was strong.

Doran watched as the Northman stared hard at his sister. Elia never flinched as she released the words he doubted the Northmen expected her to say.

"If you were in battle, you would find yourself deciding if it wise to put distance between you and an enemy or keep as little distance as possible. Do I allow her to stay in Westeros or demand that she be exiled to Essos or wherever? I have decided that when it comes to Lady Lyanna Stark, I want her in the South and as close to me as possible. I might keep her in Kings Landing or in Dorne."

The Starks began to shout, and Doran and his sister just remained silent until it dissipated. Mother, they were exhausting, much like Oberyn. He wonders if perhaps his youngest brother should have squired in the North.

"She will not be hurt," Elia continued once a moment of silence held long enough for her to do so. "--for I would not hurt her and then advocate to send my dearest friend North and my precious daughter when she is of age."

"After everything your husband did—"

"Rhaegar has his own consequences to suffer. I am not absolving him of this, and you will get your pound of flesh, my Lords. You think because I am a woman, I do not deserve my vengeance."

Doran watched as his sister rose from her seat and marched herself to stand before the Starks. Though she spoke clearly, he saw her blaze.

"I have anger towards my husband and when the time is right I will unleash it upon him. If you are allowed to be outraged by my husband claiming your sister's virtue—a virtue she chose to give him, then am I not permitted to my anger at your sister for disrespecting my role as a wedded woman --who did her duty as was expected of me."

Elia stepped into the Warden's space, her head thrown back as she glared at the High Lord.

"Do you think she is exempt from it all? Blessed Mother, it is no wonder your sister thought it perfectly acceptable to run away with my husband. Clearly, no one expects her to do her duty, nor do they expect she suffers the consequence of harming others as she does differently. You can't have it all, Lord Stark. She can't remain a victim and never a villain. Lyanna Stark might be the one you feel you must save, but to me, she is the monster I fear."

Elia turned away, walking towards the door, but she paused and looked back at the Starks one last time.

"I gave you my demand. Unless you can counter with something better, I suggest you agree to my terms, Lord Stark. You stand to gain a great deal, granted your family suffered for it, but remember you no longer rule for yourself. Consider others who have always done their duty. There is more to your family than Lady Lyanna"

Noticing the subtle shift of her eyes as they moved from Brandon to Eddard.

"You are now the steward of your father's legacy, as your son will be for you one day. Leave him something good."

Doran watched as his sister took her to leave. Head high, for she is the daughter of Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell.

The men turned back to him, and Doran took another drink from his cup.

"It seems you have much to consider. I am a brother, and I understand your fears. We will care for your sister in Dorne, but might you consider a counter to my sister's offer."

"Such as," Brandon questioned, his eyes measuring me.

"Well, you might feel comfortable with entrusting your sister into the hands of someone you and my sister both trust. Perhaps someone who your father once trusted with you. A man from the South who would be tied to the crown would be your best bet."

This time it was Doran who rose and left the Northmen to ponder his advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm bracing myself. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't hate it, but I think if I took some time it could be better.
> 
> There still is a bit more conversation that needs to happen between Elia and Tywin. I think we might need to take a peek at the Tower, and the Reach will make an appearance. Let's see if I can knock that out next week.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor do I profit from playing with them.
> 
> Warning: This chapter is longer than usual and it is wild...👀

Elia had just shut her eyes when she heard a knock at her door. Rising from the lounger in the outer chamber of her rooms, she called out.

"Yes, enter."

No sooner did she call out the words did she see one of her brother's faithful guard opening the door.

"My Princess," he bows before continuing, "...there is a Lord Brandon Stark who wishes to seek an audience."

"Send him to my private mejlis. I shall be out there shortly."

The man once again nodded before closing the door.

Elia had not expected a request from Brandon. The man seemed rather distant this morning as all hosted at Sunspear were invited to break their fast with Doran and their family. He was not rude, and neither was his brother. They just seemed curt. She did not blame the man, not truly.

Yes, it was she who sent her uncle to save him, but that doesn't immediately remove the pain he suffered at the hands of Aerys men, nor did it lessen the anguish of losing a father—and having a small role in that, even if it was unintended. The continual separation from his sister did not help. The man was a wolf having to survive outside of its territory. Good thing for him he wasn't alone, for his brother was here, and together they at least made a pack. Isn't that what all wolves need?

Elia found her mind drifting towards the Stark girl as she laid a sheer scarf over her head. Was she not a wolf too? Did she not need a pack? Was this what separated her from her brothers?

Walking through the private path to her garden, Elia continued to think upon Lyanna. Did the girl truly not think through the implications of her actions? Elia could argue that perhaps Lord Brandon had not either, but that didn't make him a bad man. Unable to pardon Lyanna so, she continued towards the wide opening as a glimpse of an orange tree caught her eye.

No, Lyanna might not be a bad person—at her core, at her heart, but she had done a bad thing. If a different nature had taken its course, Elia and her children would have died for it. It is that which Elia cannot forgive.

Does it fracture her heart greatly to think her husband had not grown to love her? Yes. Will she suffer the public indignity of her husband's infidelity? Yes. If she could choose, would death be a better alternative to a broken heart and temporary humiliation? Would her children dying in the most violent of ways justify it all? Would her rape and death? Would the brokenness of her family and the death of her people? No, it would not.

Lyanna may not be all bad, but Elia did not think the young woman was all good either.

As she made her way into the garden, Elia spied Brandon. He stood, looking at an orange as it dangled through the leaves. She remained silent as the man seemed deep in thought.

"When I was a boy, my mother told me that I had too much wolfblood in me. She said blood didn't lie, and every so often, the Old Gods reminded the North that the direwolves were more than just legend. It was when the wolfblood burned the hottest that they would appear and when that day came, all should be afraid."

Elia made her way to stand next to the man but still said nothing, but her mind drifted to another vision in another time when direwolves came in a pack for the Starks.

"I never truly understood what she meant until I was a bit older. I had discovered a young direwolf in the woods. A rare sight that far South of the Wall, but he was real. My mother bade me to say naught to anyone. It never came close when I was around others, but when I traveled alone, he found me and walked by my side."

Brandon released a harsh laugh.

"Gods, the beast would let me ride him after a time. Before today the only person to know this was my mother, and when she died, I kept my silence."

"Why tell me? While I know I am not your enemy, I do not think you believe us to be the best of friends, Lord Stark?" Elia gestured with a nod that they take a seat under the canopy.

"I am telling you this because of what you've shared with me in the Water Gardens. I could tell the world about your _abilities_ , but after all, that has occurred, it would sound very much like childish prodding, leaving my people to question my sanity."

"A truthful analysis." She cautioned.

"You offer me a fruitful tie to the Crown and Dorne. I'd be a fool not to see the value in accepting the offer. I may be Northern, and my people and I may not understand the ways of the South. Not that the South understand us."

Elia shrugged.

"What you stated is not a feeling unique to the North. We are Dornish and seldom called Southerons or Westerosi by anyone on this land—save for perhaps you. We share this exclusion, it seems."

Nodding towards her, the man sits forward, bracing his forearms on his knees as he clasps his hands. He meets her eyes.

"We are harsh, but there is warmth and joy in us. Winter and the land made us so. Nevertheless, my thoughts and prayers to the Old Gods won't lessen the loss of hunger should another long Winter come."

Elia nodded. She had not expected that to be the man's response.

"The truth is not always clear, but then perhaps neither are answered prayers."

Elia found herself confused by this man and their conversation.

"I don't follow, Lord Brandon."

"The last Winter was long and harsh. We lost many people—farmers and their families. My father is--was a faithful man of the Old Gods, Princess. I would not put it past him to seek help from the Gods so that we would not be caught unawares again. He had planned to marry Lya to Robert, and part of that was to create a trade route from the Stormlands to the North. Maybe the Gods have a different path in mind."

Elia gasped.

"You can't think the Old Gods would do this to your family to answer a prayer."

The man huffed out a laugh.

"I am not disparaging my Gods, Princess, but there is an element of great sacrifice when the boon is enormous. We are not weak-bellied when it comes to making an offering to the Old Gods. It may not have been our intent to offer what they took, but that did not stop them from answering the prayer and seeking their bounty."

Elia nodded. If she were honest with herself, there have been times when she has casually wondered what price she would be made to pay to the Rhoynish deities once all was said and done.

Silence passed between the two before Elia turned to the man.

"Lord Stark..."

"I would like to see her..."

Elia froze in mid-sentence. Mother Rhoyne he wanted to see Lyanna—now. A part of her panicked, for she could not control what she saw in the present. Her ability to scan through time only worked if she started from a point in the past.

"...but I think I should like to prolong the inevitable, Princess."

Elia released what she thought was a subtle sigh of relief—only to stiffen once again.

"My brother, on the other hand, feels differently. I gather your Lady Ashara has some influence in that. Should he find it within himself to ask, would you be willing to share with him what he seeks to know?"

Elia stared at the man. She reclined to the back of her chair as she crosses her leg. Considering his request, the Princess had not thought that it would be the Quiet Wolf that sought her—the brother who she thought was Lady Lyanna's staunchest defender. Making her decision, she agreed.

The big man stood, gesturing in good-bye as he took his leave.

"Lord Stark,"

"Yes, Princess."

"Tell your brother, should he feel inclined, I would be willing to meet with him tomorrow. Perhaps he and I can have a midday meal at the Water Gardens."

Sending her a final nod, the Northern lord left Elia to her own thoughts.

*****

A garden tea would not appeal to a man like Tywin Lannister. Elia knew this and considering the path their conversation would most likely take, she didn't want the man to feel any more exposed than the topic would surely make him.

This is how Elia found herself sitting before the man sharing a separate dinner in a private dining chamber. Sunspear had many.

_"A different room can serve a different purpose, my daughter."_

Elia could hear her mother's voice, and it brought a warm smile to her face. She missed her mother desperately.

Raised for a life as a high lord's wife, Princess Lorenza raised her daughter to be wary of the Lannister, which was odd considering her own mother's relationship with the late Lady Joanna. Elia had known that Tywin Lannister did not like the Dornish, but it wasn't until now that she realized his dislike might have had more to do with her mother and less to do with Dorne.

The servants have provided them with a bit of a feast, but Elia doubted the man would be impressed. By the dour look on his handsome face, she didn't think much enthralled the man.

"I must say, Princess Elia, after a night's rest, I find myself debating the merits of sacrificing my House for a handful of suppositions. I will admit I find myself challenged by the notion that my heir is a member of the Kingsguard, I am loyal to the Crown."

The man looked calm in his delivery, which she supposed made him a fantastic player at the game—well, that was until he overplayed his hand.

"I can understand your hesitance, but I am trying to help you secure your house. Unless you plan to have, Cersei wait to marry Kevan's young son, Lancel. Therefore, ensuring the Lannister House stays with the Lannisters. Unless you plan to pass it to—Tyrion."

The man pursed his lips.

"Are you saying that if House Lannister stands aside, you will NOT release my son?"

"If I thought you would just stand aside, then I would, but I don't think you are capable of it, Lord Tywin. See, you are a lion, and for all its grandeur, a lion is a cat, and such beasts are creatures of opportunity. I am simply attempting to ensure you see the potential bounty in aligning with me."

The older man grunts.

"Lord Tywin, I do not know why the King has done you immense disfavor regarding your son, but don't you want an opportunity to actively take back what he has stolen. The man is mad for your son. He.."

Those words elicited a strange reaction from the Westlander.

"Explain!"

Elia took a breath, for this man's curtness does straddle the line of rude. It's not a Northern disposition. The man is to Southeron to make such a breach in etiquette.

"He seems to have this preoccupation for your son. Always demanding that Lord Commander Hightower assign him to stand by the King or guarding his door..."

Elia's voice trailed, for the former Hand of the King would understand her implication. 

The man seemed lost in his thoughts.

"I know you had plans to marry your daughter to Rhaegar. I know the king removed his _grace_ from you.”

The man's color returned as his anger at her words seethed under his skin.

"As you sit there judging me. Remember, I did my duty, and it matters little to Rhaegar. I imagine Cersei doing her duty would haven't mattered either. Kings and Princes...they get what they want when they want it do they not?"

Dark eyes met emerald green ones. Elia could see when the man had made the connection. When he was cognizant of Elia's—awareness.

"I don't know what you are speaking of."

The man rose sharply and began to push away from the table.

"Aerys was obsessed with her. She fought off his advances until he no longer found them amusing."

The man turned to leave, giving Elia his firm back.

"She was supposed to be with Rhaella, but the Queen forgot her book and being with child—with Aegon, Lady Joanna went to retrieve it for her."

The man began to deftly shake his head.

"Your lady was alone, and the King took what was not his to take."

"How dare you? You know nothing." The Lord of Casterly Rock turned to face her. His voice a quiet rage.

"I know my mother found her. I know my mother comforted her. I know my mother had sent for you in the most circumspect way possible to preserve her pride."

Elia felt emotions well up in her as she recalls watching her mother care for the brutally-assaulted woman she loved dearly. Joanna and Rhaella were to her mother what Ashara was to her even though she was a mature woman when she had first met them.

"Why? What purpose would your mother telling you serve?" Spittle fells from the man's lips.

"My mother only warned me to remain vigilant around the King and, in doing so, protect my person."

The man's breathing was labored. Elia could see him thinking about striking her. Is that not what many a man like him does when he cannot control his responses to the most triggering of emotions. 

"Queen Rhaella was the one to tell me why." And just like that, the man lost his ire.

"No. She would not..."

"She did, for there were many times I, like my mother, tended to her after Aerys visited her bed."

The Lion gripped the back of his chair. His gaze intent on her. Elia willed any signs of weakness away from her visage.

"Knowing what I know, the timing of your second son is most suspect. I am sure the letter you received from the King upon the announcement of his birth was most—upsetting."

Another vision Elia entered in the recent past. Joanna had passed in childbirth, and shortly after the announcements were sent, the king sent a private response to Tywin. The words seared into Elia's mind.

_A shame about Joanna. She was such a delight to me. Such a good woman to leave me a gift before she departed. Bring the son, Lord Tywin. That is a demand from your King."_

"How did you know about the letter?"

"The how is not important. I do not plan to share the existence of it."

"I burned it."

"That does not mean it didn't exist. There are always traces of our acts left in the world. All one really must do is find them."

"What are you speaking on about?"

"I understand why you did it. I mean, a part of me truly understands since I am taking my pound of flesh for the betrayal to me. What I don't understand is why you had to harm Rhaella. She was not worthy of your wrath."

The air in the room shifted. If Elia were in a viper's form, she would scent the air with a forked-tongue as she hissed. She had faith that Oberyn and Leo were ready to intercede should the man do anything foolish. In truth, Elia worried more about him in privacy than in public. This man was dangerous, but he was also shrewd.

"The children. I understand she had lost 3 babes before Aegon, but his premature birth resulted from poisoning, as was Jaehaerys. If it wasn't for Aerys paranoia and the fact that Pycelle had been called back to the Citadel for a short time, I am sure Viserys would have perished as well."

"I am not sure what this has to do with me. Clearly, Rhaella is just not strong enough to sustain his seed. It's unfortunate, but it happens. Your own mother had her difficulties if rumors are to believed." The nearly snarled at her.

Elia maintained her composure, but she found it hard for her body wanted to vibrate with rage. How dare he justify what he did to Rhaella? To use her mother. Elia wondered what Joanna saw in the man and how much he must have changed to become the man that stood before her. 

"As I said, there are always traces of our acts left in the world. All one really must do is find them. While you burned your letters, Pycelle followed your command to do the same—with one exception, he created a journal."

The pale man grew paler. His eyes narrowed. The man pours a cup of wine before returning to his seat. Hmmm...look at the pomp and circumstance, Elia thought. Should this behavior move me, Tywin?

Grabbing her own glass, Elia looks straight at the man as she continued.

"He did such a foolish thing. I think he did it if your House rose to take the throne—by marriage, of course, he would have chronicled his work on behalf of the winning side of history ensuring to record his contributions. That would turn him into a man of note amid the Houses, Lords, and uprisings, wouldn't you say."

Elia took a sip of her wine. A Riverland berry wine. Tart, and a much-needed diversion.

"You have no proof."

"Of course, I do. I would not bother to waste the time of a significant man such as yourself without it. Before our men retrieved the High Septon, they made a stop in Kings Landing. You'd be surprised how easy the palace is to enter when you know exactly where to go and who to ask for help."

Elia rose and walked to a side table. Reaching down, she picked up a rather large book. She could feel Tywin's eyes as they tracked her every move. Returning to her seat, she placed the book on her lap.

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

Vile words remained behind the man's lips, and Elia found herself impressed by his restraint.

"No. Very well. Let us start again." Elia smiled.

"I know what you did, Lord Tywin. I can even understand why though it pains me to know that Rhaella suffered needlessly. I am willing to give you back your heir, which ensures that Joanna's second-born does not become the next Lord of Casterly Rock upon your passing."

Tywin grunts.

"Your daughter, while I can appreciate her training to be a Queen in her own right, has the opportunity to marry into one of the oldest and most wealthy houses. A house that will soon command The Reach. A region much wealthier than the Westerlands considering your gold mines are coming up shorter and shorter every year." 

Elia raises a slender hand.

"Please, Lord Tywin, do not ask me how I know. Keep in mind there might be an opportunity to find a new way of building your wealth. Have you ever considered farming?"

Once again, his emerald eyes narrow.

They remain in a long, tense silence.

Elia held her resolve and found comfort in the uncomfortable.

The Old Lion took a deep breath.

"I can't wait for my son to marry that Vale girl. Many things can occur in ten years."

Averting her glance to suppress joy from revealing itself too soon.

"Fair enough. If Cersei marries into the Reach, I am sure you can find a suitable bride there though that does not gain you much in the way of economic benefit, and neither does a Westerland House for that might reveal your difficulties a bit sooner than you had hoped. The North would never agree, and I doubt you wish to benefit Lords Tully and Baratheon, which removes the Riverlands and Stormlands. That leaves Crownlands, Dorne, or the Vale."

Tywin takes a sip of his own drink. His eyes stare off into the distance before a smile tugs at his lips.

"I believe Lady Anya Waynwood has a daughter."

Elia met the man's smile with one of her own.

"Yes, she does. A few, in fact, but there is one who I met at the tourney last year. She is about a year shy of Jaime. A lovely blonde girl."

"Now, Lord Tywin, do we have an accord. I keep your secrets, and out of love, my mother and your wife shared I will return your heir and assist you in making good matches for them and your House."

Elia took a breath.

"I may care not for you, but I want Jaime to have something. He is, was, so innocent in the ways of the world though he is a man by all accounts. I can say with acuity he is no longer blinded by the fallacies for knighthood. I do not think Joanna's son warranted that. All I ask is that when the time comes, you will stand and let the Faith condemn Aerys, you will ultimately stand by my son Aegon's claim, and if all goes according to plan, your family will prosper."

"And if you fail?" Ah, the cat is thinking it's playing with a dead snake.

"Then, no one will ever know. I have no plans for a big usurpers war with 100,000 upon 100,000's of men and boys to fight for something that matters little to them. Where banners are called from all corners of this land. This game matters only to those who have a seat at the table. At times I do not know if that is cruel or just, but it is our reality."

"So, if I am wrong, very few, if any, will be aware of it. You lose nothing by keeping your word."

The old man continued to measure her, and Elia returned the gesture.

In her heart of hearts, she wanted this man to agree. She wanted Cersei married and too far away to influence her brother. Elia was aware of how _unusual_ their closeness was. Tywin would no longer be necessary with Jaime married and installed as the Lord of Casterly Rock—a true friend to the throne.

Though she used his existence to lay Tywin bare, Tyrion would get a reprieve of sorts under his brother's protection.

A gentle sigh and a hiked brow was the only reaction the man bestowed until he began to nod.

"Very well, Princess Elia. If you can get the Faith to try Aerys, then I will stand with you. When I am asked to swear fealty to the newly installed King, be it Rhaegar or Aegon, I shall. In return, you will give me back my heir and ensure these marriage alliances will take place." 

"I give you my word."

The man nods at her.

"This requires another glass of wine, my Lord." Elia raises the carafe and refills their cups.

Both raise their cups to each other with a shared nod.

Like a cat too engrossed with a _dead snake_ to notice it is not really dead, Elia does not think Tywin truly understands the magnitude of this moment because, for all his machinations, he just expedited the inevitable—being that it was always his fate to die courtesy of a viper.

In another life, her brother's death spurred Varys to free Tyrion. Even though a Lion killed the Lion, it was a viper that created the opportunity for death to come.

*****

Elia was not surprised when after speaking with Tywin, she had a note waiting for her from the second eldest Stark son. He has inquired if her invitation to a meal and _conversation_ were still available, and if so, she could inform him no matter the hour.

Peeking out her window, she knew it was late—later than was appropriate, but she decided to honor the man's request and notify him of her willingness. Sending him a missive to meet her an hour before midday.

Now they were seated near her favorite pool—a bountiful meal before them. Elia had offered for Ashara to eat with them; however, the young man had thanked her but declined. She knew that her friend and their brothers where nearby.

They sat in painful silence. Both taking indirect observations of each other, as Elia practiced the art of small talk with shy personalities. Looking at the man and taking in his demeanor while knowing he capable of great passion made Elia question the façade we all wore.

She had hers, Tywin had his, and clearly, the Quiet Wolf donned his own. The meal was near its end, not that Elia ate much before she decided to move matters along.

"Lord Eddard,"

"I'm no Lord, Princess. It's just Ned."

"Hmmm...I beg to differ. You are your brother's heir, and should he have a son of his own, you will probably find yourself with a keep and a title of your own."

Those gray eyes hold her stead in his gaze.

"I was never meant for those things."

"Why do you say that? Your father was a powerful man..." Elia noticed her horrible misstep, and the gray eyes before her lost color and bled clear.

"I'm sorry, Ned. I didn't think through my thoughts and brought offense with my insensitivity."

"Nothing you said wasn't true. My father was a powerful man...but now he is—gone."

The man turned away, and once again, Elia doubted the wisdom of agreeing to this meeting.

"Ned. Why are we here? What do you seek from me?"

Ned swung his gaze back, shaking his head.

"I believe in the Old Gods."

Unsure where this was heading, Elia nodded.

"It is the Southeron Gods that have all these rules."

Once again, Elia nodded.

"I believe that many Gods can share one place—if they have enough people who believe. For those who believe in the oldest of gods, well, that type of bond goes deep into the blood."

"We Dornish have our Gods, despite what the Faith has introduced."

"As does the North?"

"Yes."

"I love my sister."

"I have no reason to think you do not."

The man took a sip from the cup before him. He wet his lips, and Elia recognized the tell for what it was—a need for space.

"I find myself able to believe in the existence of your _gift_. Ashara has my trust and affection."

The man blushed violently.

"She swears by your craft. If I trust Ash and I trust my sister, then I should welcome the opportunity to see her for myself."

"Even if the sight breaks your heart.." Elia needed to be sure of his intention.

"Yes, but before we see my sister, perhaps you take me to a time that is familiar to me."

"A test," Elia smirked as she nodded. "Very well, Ned."

Elia rose and made her way to the pool.

"Come along. Take off your boots and roll up your pants. Don't worry, you won't go too far into the water."

As the Northman did her bidding, doubt shadowed his eyes. Elia walked down the shallow stairs before finding herself on a step where the water rose to her thighs. She gestured for the Stark to follow her. He stood at a step above hers as he sat on the pool's edge.

Both she and Ned watched as Ashara sat under the canopy they just occupied. Close enough to chaperon, but far enough away that she could hear nothing.

"So, Ned, where would you like to go?"

"I want to see my father."

Elia froze. Did he wish to see his death?"

"Can you be more specific?"

The man nodded, his mind already lost in a memory.

"I want to see him on the eve of my departure to the Eyrie."

She had not expected that, but she did as he wished.

Holding on to his hands, Elia sought the water. She could feel the liquid travel over her and onto the young Stark. The man stiffened, and with her mind, she told his not to fight the desire to breathe.

_Take a breath with me."_ Elia repeated until the man did just as she requested.

His thrashing stopped, and once again, there was calmness.

Opening her eyes, Elia could see Ned standing beside her as they watched a small feast being had in the hall.

"My Gods..." he exclaimed.

Elia remained quiet as she allowed the man to take it all in. As he watched, so did she—the people were loud, boisterous, and by Southeron standards uncultured. But Elia saw more. There was also that warmth Brandon had spoken of. There was loudness because there was laughter. They were boisterous because they chose to fill a young boy's last night at home with a memory of happiness instead of sadness. While they may not be recognizable in Southeron circles, these people have a culture of their own that was recognizable to anyone who bothered to look.

Together they wandered. Ned was transported in more than just body. They stayed until it had gotten late into the evening.

Rickard Stark was a handsome man in his youth. His eyes followed his young son as he played with his friends one last time. There was pride that warred with sadness, which he hid behind a pint.

Nodding to his wife, he gestured for the young version of Ned to follow—and he did. Elia listened to the words a father shared with his young son on the eve of his leaving home. The moment made her tear, for it was clear that while stoic in repose, Rickard Stark was a father who had loved his son.

Glancing up, she could see a wave of emotions play over Ned's face. Turning away, she restored his privacy. Just because he wanted to come here, it does not remove the value this moment had for him.

"I want to go to another time."

"When?" Elia gently asked.

"I want to go back to Harrenhal. To the evening, Rhaegar sang, and Lya poured a tankard over my brother."

Taking a deep breath, Elia nodded and once again took his hands. While she would have preferred to stay away from Harrenhal, she did agree to take him wherever he chose and Harrenhal, while painful, was not a hard limit for her.

Once again, the water seemed to move faster over them, and once again, she had to remind Ned to breathe.

When she opened her eyes, they stood behind the Starks. The young Lady Lyanna sat forward with her head resting on her hand. Her sighs were deep, and the shuttering breaths from the tears told all who deigned to listen that the girl was weeping. Seated beside her was a younger boy who clearly bore the look of a Stark. This must be young Benjen.

Elia could see her husband. He was looking intently at his harp as he sang. She had always wondered if he had sung to the Stark girl that night. Clearly, he had not.

"Did you know Lya had poured the wine over my brother?"

Looking up to see the tall man looking down to meet her gaze.

"No. Honestly, I hadn't known until Ashara had shared the news with me later on..."

Turning away, Elia had paused, for Ash had shared the news as a way of trying to make Elia feel better about Rhaegar crowning Lyanna.

Ashara had thought that Rhaegar would not want such a woman when she had no amount of self-control. For how does a lady lose such restraint in public. Ash even jested about the young Stark girl pouring a carafe of wine on the King himself.

None of it truly helped, but Elia hadn't the heart to tell Ashara that, and knowing each other the way they do, Ashara wasn't convinced. Nevertheless, they kept up the appearance that it had.

"Well...just wait." He murmured. Once again, his eyes capturing the sight before him.

"Shut it, Brother."

"Awe, Lya, are you weeping for the handsome prince. Does Lya fancy Prince Rhaegar?

Turning to look at her brother, Elia noticed how the young girl was embarrassed and seething with anger. But her brother seemed unimpressed.

"I said. Shut, Your. Mouth." She whispered menacingly in his ear.

"Oh, won't you two make a tragic tale of love? Star-crossed lovers. He, the married Prince, never fated to be with his one true love. What would your story be called? The dragon and the wolf...or better yet _A Song of Ice and Fire._ " Benjen teased.

"Arrrgh." Standing up and reaching for the canteen, Lyanna poured the entire contents of wine over her brother's head. She turned away and stormed out of the feast with Brandon Stark not far behind her.

They remained in silence once again as the world around them continued to move.

"I always wondered why she did that. She would never say, and neither would Benjen. Gods know Brandon, and I tried to get to the heart of it, but they said nary a word about it. We had only heard Ben apologize through the door of her room. From the letters I received from Father, it had taken Lya quite a bit of time for her to forgive him, it seems."

Elia kept that bit of information to herself. Perhaps further exploration was needed.

"Thank you, Princess Elia. You have taken me where I have asked to go without question."

Elia sent him a tentative smile.

"Is this all you wish to see, or is there more?"

Ned released a deep breath that made the man tremble. Steeling himself, he straightens his back and raises his head.

"If you would be willing. I'd like to see my sister as she is at this moment. I need to see her for myself."

Elia dreaded this moment but remained firm in her resolve to show this man what he wished to see.

"Very well."

It was Ned who reached for her hands, and once again, they were submerged. This time she hadn't need to remind the Northerner to breathe.

Elia and Ned were in front of the Tower. She could hear the sounds of cooking come from the door nearest to them. In the distance, you could see two men wearing whitecloaks as they sparred with each other.

She doesn't know what prompted her, but Elia found herself whispering her thoughts aloud.

"In another life, I would be dead by the time you arrived here, as would my children. Your sister would be laying in the aftermath of childbirth—dying, and leaving you with her child."

A look of horror overtook Ned's features.

"Robert becomes King. Cersei, his Queen. No Brandon. No Ashara. Catelyn would be your fate. Not an overly bad one for you would find your way to loving each other despite claiming Lyanna and Rhaegar's child as your own bastard."

"Gods, no."

"For a time, you break away from Robert upon hearing the manners of our deaths, but time and distance forgives all as our memories become weak. You become his Hand, and eventually, a windfall of trials comes after you and your family. One by one, your children either die or survive unspeakable ordeals to become something other than what you would have wanted them to be."

Joyful laughter floated in the air as Elia and Ned stared at each other. Turning towards the sound, Ned followed the voices.

"Not that!" Lyanna scolded Rhaegar.

"Hmmm...that was not the sentiment you bestowed last night, my love, when I attempted such a—performance."

"Rhaegar! You are absolutely scandalous."

The young woman laughed. Her eyes were joyful. Elia may not like Lyanna Stark, but she isn't blind to see that this woman is in the throes of love. Once upon a time, Elia had felt such freedom in those feelings herself. There is power in awakened sexuality. It just rips at Elia that it was her husband who woken those feelings.

The silver-hair Prince laughed good-naturedly. He was harder to read, for once again, he looks happy, but then he looked happy with her, and clearly, that was not true.

Ned reached to unsheathe a sword that didn't exist. Elia understood his desire to run Rhaegar through.

Rhaegar's voice sounded sad and wistful.

"I know, my love, but for you—for this, you are worth it."

"Oh, Rhaegar!"

And with those final words, Lyanna Stark leaped into the arms of Elia's husband as they kissed passionately. As the couple in front of them began the process of shedding clothes, Ned immediately stood before her in an attempt to shield her eyes, but Elia hadn't the heart to tell him she had stumbled on worse scenes between the two.

"I am sorry you had to see that, Princess. We must go."

Ned has been holding her shoulder when he utters those words.

"If you don't mind, since I am here, there is someone I have been needed to see today."

Ned nodded.

Last Elia had seen of Lord Commander Hightower, he was required to find Rhaegar, but he had not been successful as each search party he sent returned with no news.

Elia traveled to the last moment she had seen the man and forwarded his movements until her visions could not continue past. This was a clear indicator that Elia was in the present. As she looked around, Elia's heart froze.

She could see the man, but he was no longer in the Crownlands. Panic began to consume her as the man rode past Nightsong, where the Stormlanders of House Caron resided. The tower would be the next dwelling he saw. It was about a full day's ride. In her dread, Elia could barely hear Ned as he spoke to her.

Elia could not let that man reach the tower, but she didn't know what she could do to stop him.

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia, seek the water._

_Elia seek and you shall see._

Closing her eyes. Elia drew the water that surrounded her, but at that moment, she didn't feel like she was at the pool—no, she was on this hill with Ned Stark. She felt the water of the River Wyl. The river did not come in from the sea but rather poured out. No Elia could see the riverbed as it sunk, lowering the river as it travels below the abandoned Vulture's Roost.

"Elia," Ned's voice was just a flutter in the air.

"Elia," Ashara screamed, and yet it sounded like a whisper.

"Elia." Brandon's brogue was harsh but muffled in delivery.

"Help me pull her out!" Oberyn. He was near...

Nevertheless, she stayed within the water. There was so much of it. Then she heard the voice—Mother Rhoyne.

_"Elia, my words, much like this element, are fluid. I spoke to you of visions, but there is power in harnessing water."_

"I don't understand," Elia called out.

The water—the Wyl, its source came from the cave of the Red Mountains. The water was flooding into the river, but it did not flow downstream as it was known to do. It fought against its natural current. 

_“Remember Elia. The. Water. Can. Also. Change. The. Land."_

The Mother Rhoyne's voice was firm as a parent would be towards a willfully-blind child.

Elia stopped fighting the need to control the water. She released a scream that rippled through the air before she found herself falling. A wave of power pushed out of her as the weight of the water consumed her.

From afar, she could hear a horse's whine, and yet, she could also hear voices in various states of heightened fear--Ashara, the Starks, her brother...

As she felt her body twist and turn, as if it were almost tearing itself apart, she could see the caverns below the mountains crumble and become reformed, creating new paths for the river to flow. The ground began to quake and splinter until the ravine was too large to traverse by horse. She could see where it began at Vulture's Roost and how it ended when it joined with the Torentine.

Elia remained in stillness at the bottom of the gorge, on the bed of the river. She took a breath, and upon her release, the chasm began to fill with water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could fit the Queen of Roses but alas she may have to wait till next week.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am just playing house with them. They belong to GRRM.
> 
> I wrote this in less than 3 hours and I need to get to bed. I apologize in advance for any typos. 
> 
> Now might I suggest you take a deep breath before you begin to read this chapter...lol.

Oberyn knew his sister was to meet with the young Stark man. He had felt he afforded them enough discretion that Elia wouldn't be too cross with him should he enter her domain. It didn't hurt that he had watched as Ashara entered too. This need to check on his sibling wasn't specific to him as he saw Lord Brandon making his way to this particular pool entrance.

"Lord Brandon,"

"Prince Oberyn,"

The Dornish man could feel the man's eyes on him, but attention never bothered the prince. If this were another place, in another time, Oberyn would thoroughly enjoy taking a man as attractive as Brandon Stark to his bed. But alas, this is not that time, nor the place.

A woman's screaming, "Elia!" drew both men's gaze from each other and toward the pool. They ran past the long branches. Oberyn could feel the blade of the leaf slicing his cheek, but that did not slow him down.

The sight before him made Oberyn freeze for just a moment. The water had large waves that seemed to crash and fall into the center of the pool.

Ashara had jumped into the pool. Her arms her out as though she was looking for someone.

"Elia," Brandon called out. His voice laced with astonishment. This pulled Oberyn out of his stupor.

"Help me pull her out!" Oberyn yelled. He dove into the pool and swam below the surface, looking for his sister.

"Ned!" The sound of Brandon's panicked voice was the last thing Oberyn heard before he was submerged.

The water was so cold—colder than it had ever been like when they were children. The iciness stole his breath, but Oberyn pushed through.

Just when he couldn't hold his breath anymore, Oberyn swam to the surface as a splash disturbed the pattern of the punishing waves. He saw his cousin Manfrey had dove into the water.

"Did you see her?" Manfrey called out.

"No!" Turning to the Stark, searching for his own sibling. "Have you seen your brother?"

"No sign of them, and the further down you swim, the colder it gets. It reminds me of the rivers near Winterfell. Water should not be this cold this far south."

Calling out to the only person who was there at the start, Oberyn asked Ashara to tell them what happened?"

"It was like usual. Nothing out of the ordinary until she fell back into the pool. She pulled the water down with her---along with Ned. The water just keeps falling back into the pool, but I couldn't find them." The purple-eyed woman sobbed as she looked frantically around the pool.

"This is Elia, Ryn. Follow the water." Manfrey called out to Oberyn.

Their eyes went to where the water seemed to fall into itself in the center of the pool. Without further conversation, the men swam there. Brandon Stark had followed. The men dove below the surface, and the further they swam, the colder the water became. Manfrey swam smoothly as though the cold didn't bother him. Still, even with his adrenaline, Oberyn's body was fighting the need to find warmer water.

Oberyn spotted Elia lying down on the floor of the pool. He spied Manfrey and Brandon on either side of him. The Martell men reached out to touch her, and Brandon reached for his brother.

 _Take a breath.”_ A voice whispered.

They all must have heard it, for when Oberyn opened his eyes, Manfrey stood to his right and Ned Stark to his left. Brandon Stark appeared behind his brother.

Oberyn took in the sight before him. To the right in the distance were the Red Mountains. As he slowly spun, he noticed the keep he was familiar with, Nightsong. A man on a horse stood between the keep and what appeared to be a river. This shouldn't have meant much to Oberyn, except he knew this place, and no river ran from the Red Mountains cutting across the Prince's Pass. An awareness the man on the horse would have had, which made why he turned back to Nightsong like the Stranger was on his heels. Whipping his head back to Ned, Oberyn reached for the man.

"Where is Elia? Did she do this?"

Ned just stared and him, his eyes wide with shock.

"Dammit, man! Where is my sister?"

His roar appeared to pull the Northman out of his daze.

"The river. She fell back, and the ground began to quake. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. The ground below her began to break and splinter apart. She laid on the bottom of it all, and then..." The man's voice fell into a whisper until silence reigned.

"And then what, Stark?" Manfrey's voice held more fear than anger, but at that moment, it might have been hard to hear the difference.

In a gesture Oberyn understood, Brandon laid a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. The actions seemed to help the younger Stark gather his wits.

"The water came. Like burst from her. It started from that direction," the man pointed toward the direction of the Red Mountains, "and then it burst out from the walls of the ravine until it became what you see before you."

"How deep was it?" Oberyn asked.

"Deep enough that you'll need more than a lungful of air." Ned offered.

"She's not really here. We have to get her out of the pool." Manfrey suggested

"Aye, but will she come out of the pool if she is still—you know, stuck in whatever this is." Brandon posited.

Oberyn felt lost. How was he to help his sister? Manny was right. Elia was not here, but then Lord Brandon had a point—part of Elia was here. He walked to the riverbank and let the water run through his fingers. The water was so cold.

He looked up to see Manfrey beside him. The man seemed oddly resolved while Oberyn felt impotent to do anything of value to save his sister. Manfrey crouched down beside him and drew Oberyn's head to his. Their crowns rested on each other. 

"Mother Rhoyne wouldn't have come to you, to us, if we weren't meant to save her...if she wasn't made to survive. Remember Brother, the cold never bothered me quite like it did you."

Without another word, Manfrey dove into the river.

*****

Elia found a part of her settle into the river floor, but another part floated elsewhere.

She stood beside Lord Commander Hightower's horse as the man stared in horror at the rise of a river before his very eyes.

With a blink, Elia found herself in the solar of Lord Byren Caron as he was receiving a report from his steward. The men were lifting objects, such as chairs or tapestry that had fallen as the ground below them quaked.

"By the Gods, what was that, my Lord?"

"I do not know. Send men out now. Inform me of anything that is out of place. Whatever that was—it would leave a print of some sort. Go!"

Elia watched but felt nothing.

Once again, she closed her eyes.

Now on the other side of the river, Elia watched the Tower.

The two Kingsguard stood at attention, with their hand on their swords. _Lara_ had come running out of the structure as well. Rhaegar and Lyanna riding towards their _home_. The fear on their faces seemed to have put aside the lustful visage they had displayed only moments before. Hmmm...was it only moments, or was it longer. She just couldn't tell anymore.

Elia watched the exchange once they came together.

"What was that?" Whent spat. The man's hand shook as he ran it through his hair.

"The earth shook! The earth shook! Have you ever heard of such a thing?" Arthur turned to Rhaegar. His own voice sounded higher for a man with such a deep tone.

"I have heard of such natural acts. They had occurred in Old Valyria, but the country—the ground it was built on was that kind of land. This is uncommon to Westeros. Something has shifted. I need to think." Elia watched as Rhaegar turned away from them. Confusion marred his face paired with—indecision.

"Rhaegar, what do you mean something has shifted? Is this a good thing?" Lyanna ran up to Rhaegar and pulled at his arm. Her gray eyes beseeched for his attention until he met her gaze.

"I am not sure what you are going on about, but if this isn't good, does this mean the Gods are angry." Lara sounded breathless. The woman panting like he ran from the Tower to Hellholt and back.

Lyanna whipped her head towards Lara. Elia noted the fire behind the eyes—but there was ice there too. She, too, had heard of things, of how ice could be so cold it could burn the flesh exposed to it.

"No. Why would they be? The Gods see everything and know the true intent of the heart. They would not fault anyone for acting with the best intentions."

"Well, something isn't right." Lara rebutted.

"Ser Oswell, ride out along the Pass. See if anything is amiss."

The knight nodded as he gathered himself and his horse.

Elia watched and felt nothing. Hightower would not come, well, not the way of the pass. This would not last forever. The time to move was upon them.

"Elia,"

Turning slowly to the voice that called her, Elia was surprised and...pleased to see Manfrey.

"Manny! When did you get here? How did you get here?"

Manfrey walked towards her. She felt his warm hands on her shoulder as he drew her to him in an embrace. His hand in her hair as he held her close. His head resting on top of hers.

"Elia, you scared the life out of us—out of me. It's time to leave this place, Ellie."

Pulling her head away slightly, Elia sought answers in Manfrey's gaze.

"Why were you scared? I am in the pool in Water Gardens—our favorite pool. Don't you remember?"

"I do remember the pool, sweet girl, and you are there. You are also in a river, El."

Elia felt a bit confused. She remembers being in the pool, then she remembers making the river—oh, Ned, yes, Ned was with her. Where is he now?"

"The river I made. I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't know it would happen." Elia looked around for the Stark.

"Where is Ned? He was with me, right?"

Manfrey sent her a watered smile as he nodded.

"Yes, Ellie. Ned was with you. He standing beside the river, as are Oberyn and Lord Brandon."

How did you get here? How did Oberyn and Brandon get to the river?

"When you were in your vision with Ned, something happened, Ellie. You fell into the pool, and you took Ned with you. We found you at the bottom of the pool. When we reached to bring you to the surface, we were transported to the river."

Elia looked away from Manfrey, but she sought comfort in his arms as she tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes. How can she be in more than one place at one time and not be aware of it?

"How is it you are here and none of the others?" Elia voice barely above a whisper.

"I dove into the river, and I followed the voice I had always heard when we were young."

"You heard a voice too?" Elia had never shared her own awareness with anyone.

"I did." Manfrey's held her close, and Elia found safety in the gesture.

"When we would go into the pool, you would go to that cold spot, and none of our cousins or your brother could stay in it for any length of time, but I would hear the voice and follow it—to you. I don't feel the cold, Elia. The water feels warm to me. You have always felt like warmth to me."

Elia squeezed her eyes shut as tears she hadn't expected pressed through.

Raising her gaze to her cousin, Elia thinks about the boy he once was and how important he had been to her. She remembered they both had duties, and neither of those duties was to each other beyond familial bonds.

Manfrey's smile was strong and resolute, and it brought her peace.

"I am undeserving of such honor, Manny."

"I disagree, and as it is my honor to bestow, you have little say in the matter, Ellie."

Elia released a breathless laugh. He is a determined man—a Martell at his core.

"When I found you at the bottom of the river, I reached for you and found myself here. But Elia, we must go. We can't stay here. Only you can bring us home."

Nodding her agreement, a niggling thought kept pulling at her not to leave so soon.

"I will. I just need to see one more thing."

"Elia..."

"Please. I swear to take you with me, and I promise I will go back home."

The dubious expression on the man had made her smile.

Upon a deep breath, Elia closes her eyes, and space they occupied flickered. The sight before her once she focused her gaze placed her where she wanted to be.

The solar of the Queen of Thrones.

"The gardeners have no idea why the roses are failing. The farmers have even less of a suitable answer for why part of the harvest is dying."

Lord Mace Tyrell paced before the former Lady of Highgarden.

"Is there some infestation?" Lady Olenna Tyrell countered.

"No. Before you ask if I asked. I have. The answer is still no."

The old dame hiked a brow. No doubt in skepticism, Elia thought. "No need for flippancy, dear. I am just inquiring. No harm."

The Fat Rose took a deep breath before turning his gaze on his seated mother.

"I have received eight letters from bannermen who are suffering from the same situation. All on crops that are due to harvest now. It's like the water from the land is—gone. Could such a thing be possible?"

Elia watched as the old woman rolled her eyes while her son's back was turned.

"Don't be silly, son. The Reach's crowning glory is our ability to plant and grow practically anything. The fertile earth, sunlight, watered lands—we are built to sustain crops. Reachmen are proficient farmers. Our strength allows us to feed the realm, and they pay us handsomely for it. This _issue_ is temporary. I am sure of it."

Mace sat before his mother and leaned in, "Do you think this could be the work of the Dornish? The Prince did invite us to Dorne, and I did decline."

Manfrey gently squeezed their clasped hands. Elia looked up at him. How did Lord Mace know of her acts against The Reach?

"I say this with no treason in my heart, but the divinity that once blessed the Targaryen didn't provide them with the ability to punish the insolent by taking water. Now fire is more in line with their family philosophy, especially considering what happened to Lord Rickard Stark. Nasty business there, and it is not yet over as the King still demands the head of Lord Brandon and his heir.

"But Dorne..."

"Mace, you are Lord Paramount of the Reach."

The older woman stood up and leaned over the table to stare her son in the eyes.

"If the issue is that the earth is drying, then tell the farmers to add more water to the crops. I know that Dorne is our enemy, but I do not think they have the power to stifle our water supply though perhaps it being a desert would give one the assumption they could."

Elia released a sigh of relief, as did Manfrey as he squeezed their hands once again.

The Lord glared at his mother. Words sealed behind his lip never slipped past as he took a deep breath through his glare spoke volumes.

"Alerie told me she received a letter from her brother, Baelor. It seems Lord Layton was invited to Dorne as well."

The older woman's gaze sharpened as she considered her son's words.

"The Hightower's were invited to Dorne."

"Yes. It seems a marriage was brokered between House Hightower and House Lannister. Baelor is to marry Tywin's daughter Cersei."

Elia observed the Queen of Thorns. Olenna's eyes revealed much if one deigned to truly look at her gaze directly. Her gift of disarming others with her stare typically has weaker people looking elsewhere.

"Did he happen to share who else accepted the invitation?"

The Fat Lord produced a distasteful grunt.

"She mentioned Lord Tully and Lady Rhaelle were in attendance."

"Lord Tully and Lady Rhaelle, you don't say."

"If I were him, I would be finding a marriage match as far away from the Starks as possible. He must be in Dorne to consider Prince Oberyn for his eldest. I don't know if I would be desperate for a Dornish match. Why didn't he come here?"

Elia walked towards Olenna and crouched down beside her to get a better view of the woman. Her eyes added and subtracted the information as she heard it come up with a reason this all made sense.

"Why indeed?" The old woman's voice trailed in response to her son, but not truly engaged in conversation with him.

"Lady Rhaelle Baratheon is in Dorne? Why would she be there?"

Mace shrugged off the question, but Elia never took her eyes of the Queen of Highgarden.

"Perhaps she is looking to make a marriage for Stannis. King Aerys's latest raven doesn't bode well for the Lord of the Stormlands. He is still demanding his head."

"Yes, he is, so why would she leave Storm's End?" Olenna murmured to herself.

"I just told you why Mother," Mace called out in an exasperated voice. "I must go. I have another meeting with my steward. Hopefully, he comes baring better news than he did a sennight ago."

Elia could hear the man stand and walk away. She could hear the turning of the knob and the latching of the lock as he closed the door. Her gaze never left Olenna's.

The Queen of Thornes began to walk the room. Her head tilting side to side. At times she would stop and lift her fingers into the air as though she were trying to configure a puzzle of sorts.

"Rhaelle loves those boys. They are what is left of Steffan. She wouldn't leave Storm's End unless she was going to help Robert in some way. He must be in Dorne."

Elia saw the moment when the grand Lady made the connection.

"I think she has figured it out," Manfrey whispered.

"Not all, I think, but some of it." Elia finally broke eye-contact with Olenna to look at Manfrey. "Perhaps enough to make her act."

"Shall we stay to see what she does?"

Elia smiled that Manfrey seemed just as motivated to follow the true ruler of The Reach. She nodded in agreement before turning to Olenna.

"If Robert is in Dorne, then so if Lord Arryn. If Lord Arryn is there, then so is Ned Stark. Gods—could Dorne be protecting Brandon Stark." She whispered as shock seemed to lace the end of her thoughts.

The old woman's stopped walking the room and began pacing as her external thoughts spew forth.

"Granted, I have suppositions and not proof, but then that matters little, does it not. Impressions can be good enough to do immense harm. It won't take long for Rhaegar to act if he has the support of Dorne, Stormlands, Riverlands, Westerlands, Vale, and North."

Her voice almost sounded slightly panicked to Elia.

"Who to choose? Father or son. Viserys or Aegon..."

"She thinks to wed her family to the Crown."

"It appears so."

Olenna walked past them to the door. She swung it open, startling the knight on guard.

"Get me my maid, Ser. I have a journey to make."

The man moved none too quickly.

"Go, young man. I am not going to get to my destination any faster with you gawking at me."

The man began to walk away, and Olenna returned to her room. Once again, she sat at her seat, waiting for her servant.

A knock at her door had her calling out. "Enter,"

An older maid walked in and bowed before the woman.

"Ernestyne, I want you to inform the steward that I require a small retinue to travel with me."

"Yes, mi Lady. May I direct him as to where you desire to go?"

Elia held her breath, and this time it was she who gripped Manfrey's hand.

Nodding off into the distance, Olenna replied.

"To Dorne."

As soon as Elia heard those words, she found herself coming back to her being. She retraced her steps—from The Reach to the Tower, to the river...

"Elia! Manfrey, you found her."

Elia found herself in the arms of her brother. She could feel his body quake as he held her. One of his arms pulled away, and the cool air that came with the movement was once again warmed as Oberyn pulled Manfrey into their embrace.

"Mother Rhoyne, never that do that again." He whispered to them.

Their scene was witnessed by the Starks, but the brothers remain silent as they tried to provide Elia and her family with privacy.

Pulling away, Elia looked at each man. They all looked worse for wear. Manfrey was right—it was time to leave this place.

"Shall we go, gentlemen?"

The frantic nods and "ayes" that followed caused Elia to release a trembled laugh.

"Very well..."

Elia extended her hands. They all reached for the hands of another until they formed a circle with Oberyn on her right and Manfrey to her left.

Closing her eyes, Elia took in a deep breath. She could smell the water in the air. Slowly she felt a dissonance that told her she was leaving one world and entering another. They were in the pool. She could feel it. The water felt—different.

Voices sounded muffled as though Elia was still submerged, but she knew she wasn't, for there was too much heat from the sun on her skin. The people sounded frightened and confused.

"Elia, wake up." Oberyn's voice was so close to her ear, but he sounded so far away.

"Elia, you promised you would come back!" Manfrey's voice. Where those his hands brushing the water away from her face?

She tried to call out to him to all of them. _“I’m here. I swear, I am here."_

"Where is the damn Maester?"

Ashara has just sworn. Her friend never really speaks in such terms. She sounds frantic.

"I don't understand, Bran. How are we here and she still—gone."

"She lives, you fool!" Oberyn's voice sounded so angry.

"She does, Prince Oberyn, but she is not with us. Not yet. Whatever claims her does so for a reason."

"Lord Brandon is right. All we can do is wait and stand vigilant until she returns." Manfrey declared sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that happened...👀  
>   
>  **Lady Olenna Tyrell**  
>  (Diana Riggs is it for me!)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I'm playing in GRRM's dollhouse. 
> 
> This is a shorter chapter. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay! Only 3 more days till the semester is over (work and grad school) so I will have 3 uninterrupted weeks to dedicate to writing.

It has been three days since Doran was disturbed from a meeting by Manfrey to learn of what occurred with Elia in the Water Gardens. During the day, his presence is seen and felt in Sunspear. None know, but a select few of his sister's current condition. However, when the sun begins to fall, Doran makes the Gardens' short journey—to Elia.

It has been three days, and she still has not awoken.

Doran is afraid. This is not a feeling he has had much experience with. Sadness, melancholy, loneliness, grief...these are shades of emotions he is intimately aware of. The variations of these feelings have marred his existence with each time his mother lost another babe after him. As the Prince of Dorne and an introspective man, he found very few peers and friendships he could trust. The loss of his parents. The cracks in his marriage. Forcing himself to send his brother away. Yes, Doran is not a maid when it comes to the darker shades of feelings.

But Elia...

He is afraid for her. Not for war, though he does not want it, Doran knows his people will rise, and they will stand in defense of Dorne and the Martells. It is the Dornish way. His beloved sister sleeps in a place Doran cannot get to her. This impotence pulls at him in a way that makes me want to take leave of his senses and go to Rhaegar and spear the man in the heart. Alas, that would not do. Though, like Oberyn, he feels a strong desire to do so.

Reaching over, Doran takes Elia's hand into his. He notices not for the first time how both of them have the same hands, albeit hers are smaller. They are the hands of their mother—slim long fingers with a small birthmark on the inside of their right ring finger. Doran remembers the day he discovered their similarity. He told Elia that the gods saw fit to mark them as closest of kin, and he swore then and there that he would forever protect her. It was promised from a boy of 10 that a man intended to honor. He just didn't know how.

Bringing her hand to his cheek, Doran sighed. She was cool to the touch.

"Elia, it is time to wake. This has gone on long enough. Oberyn and Manfrey have shared what they saw, and it is time to act. There is only so much time we have before even that runs out. Hightower will find a way around the river. Lady Tyrell will arrive in a little more than a sennight if she is traveling by sea. The Lords here are asking for you. The Starks said they would keep your condition to themselves, but I do not trust them to do so. Tywin is circling. I must make decisions, and it seems fate will require me to do so without your assistance, dear sister."

Still, Elia did not stir.

Doran sat back, but he did not release Elia's hand. Mother Rhoyne, he was tired. Thinking it prudent to close his eyes for just a moment before heading back home. He slowly lowered his lids. Like a thief lying in wait, fatigue had made their presence known, and he found his body laden until Doran left the conscious world behind.

The sound of trees moving paired with the scent of lemons was what caused Doran to open his eyes. He was no longer in Elia's chambers, but instead, he stood in a lemon grove.

"Welcome, my son."

Doran spun around to see Trebor Gargalan looking at him.

"Baba."

Father and son embraced tightly. Doran considered himself an intelligent man. He was educated, and much of his knowledge was prompted by his desire to learn more of the world than just Westeros. Nothing in his readings prepared him for seeing his deceased father come to life in what Doran was sure to be more than just a dream.

"You look good. Older, but good." His father laughed. The man's eyes tracking Doran's face.

"It has been many years..."

"Too many, but we are here now."

Doran shook his head. He couldn't stay here. There was too much to do—so much at stake.

"I can't stay here. I must go. The world is no longer as you knew it. There are things I must attend to."

"Goddess, how you sound like your mother. I know you are busy, and I know why. Taking a moment to find clarity never hurt anyone."

His father pulled a lemon cleanly off the tree. Doran never mastered the skill as a very young boy before his training as the Prince of Dorne began. The man lifted the lemon to his nose, taking in a deep breath. He tossed the fruit to Doran, who had the quick reflexes to catch it.

"Elia—"

"Is safe for now?"

"You know where she is. Why are you here with me? Why do you not get her out?"

Doran could hear the incredulity in his voice as it rose in frustration and confusion.

The older man stopped walking and turned to look at him. The dark expression on his father's face was one Doran saw frequently targeted at his brother and not him.

"Though to you, my presence makes one think I can control the impossible, the truth is I cannot, and neither can you. We serve at the whims of our Gods. There is only so much I can do for her—"

Doran turned away from his father. Shutting his eyes to shield his anger, for in his heart Doran knew his father had loved him and would have done all he could to protect him if it were in his power to do so.

"Doran,"

"Why am I here? What clarity am I to find here? All I see is that I will be reminded of how it feels to lose a parent once again. The grief I felt and dealt with years ago. So please tell me, baba, why am I here?"

His father just stared at him. Doran always wondered what did his father see when he looked at Doran. Oberyn took after their father in looks, while Doran followed their mother. Did he look at Doran and have doubts, concern, pride...

"After all these years, you have been able to maintain a layer of gentleness to yourself. I see your face clouding with anger. This is not a criticism. You are a good Prince of Dorne. You are clever and strong-willed—Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, a Nymeros-Martell with a hint of Gargalan. You are a strong leader that cares to maintain his family and their station. Still, you also think of your people as an extension of yourself and therefore under your protection. That my son comes from your gentleness, it is not something to be shamed by but rather a quality to embrace."

Doran wasn't sure how to reply as he had not foreseen his father speaking such words.

"Yes. All that you spoke of walks as a shadow to my concerns and doubts. The biggest worry is the matter of Elia followed by what is to come with the Targaryens."

Standing before Doran, his father placed a large muscled hand on the Prince's shoulder much as he did when he was but a small boy.

"I cannot tell you what holds Elia. Her plight must happen, for it will send another on a quest he is destined to have. You, my son, have all you need to act in the now. Just remember, when the time comes, the 10,000 will sail once again. It is their destiny, just as it once was the fate of their ancestors."

Doran considered his father's words. It was time for Dorne to act. They may not have Elia as they would like, but even when the darkest clouds hide the sun's rays, the sun still rises and sets. He and Oberyn still remain in a state to act. Doran will have to trust his father's words that Elia's fate is up to another. If the champion is who he thinks, then that quest was written in the stars decades ago. It seems there is a path for the original Rhoynish descendants that must be taken.

Sending a prayer to Mother Rhoyne that they too survive this and that the help from the Goddess still meant something after all this time. He knew he had to leave. Doran sighed.

"I know. You must go. That has been our lot. I tried to pull you away from your studies and duty for a walk or spar in the groves, and you always were compelled to follow your duty."

"Did that anger you?"

"No, not particularly."

"Because you eventually had the son who would indulge you in Oberyn."

His father released a deep laugh.

"I guess in some ways." Laughter laced his tone of voice but then changed into a serious one.

"Do not think I was unhappy with you or us. I hope I was a good father to you. You were always a good son, Doran. I never wanted you to be a playmate. I had that in your uncle. I wanted you to be a good man—however, that expressed itself. Even your brother, flaws and all is a good man in his way. Only a person secure in who he is can be a leader others will follow because they choose to, not because they fear the repercussions if they don't. That is what I wanted for you—for both my sons and that is what I was blessed with a life long enough to see."

Doran was not sure how to navigate the feelings his father's words brought up in him. So, he nodded in acknowledgment in an effort to reassure his father that he had heard him.

"You are a father now as well. Make sure your children know who they are. Embrace who they will become—especially Arianne. There is so much of your mother in her."

"You see it too."

"Mother Rhoyne, yes, I do. You will have your patience poked and prodded with that one."

"Do you speak from experience?" Doran found a smile tugging at his lips.

His father scoffed. "Of course—over 35 years of it in your realm."

The thought of complete separation from Mellario in the aftermath of death saddened him. Then he thought of their parents. A political match that had turned into more—so much more, and wondered how they fared with an eternal break from each other.

"Might I ask—have you seen my Mother?"

"Often. Lorenza is, after all, my beloved. She had her turn with you. I wanted a chance to see you, Doran."

A crack of thunder shook the earth causing Doran to jolt. His father looked to where the sky was darkening. The sky looked ominous. A bad omen, Doran thought.

His father's eyes never left the dark sky.

"It pains me to tell you, for I wish for more time with you, but you must go. Leave Elia's fate to another. Now you must be the Prince of Dorne and act for your people. When the time comes trust in yourself and send the 10,000 on their journey."

"Baba,"

Doran nodded. He squeezed his father's shoulder before pulling him in for an embrace. The older man's arms kept him close. An affectionate man where Doran was reserved, his father held his face as he did when Doran was a child and kissed him on both cheeks.

"I know, my son. Now go..."

Unsure of how it happened, Doran found himself seated on the chair with Elia's hand in his. The knock at the door pulling him out of his thoughts. Doran turned to watch his brother walk into Elia's chambers. The knock a barely concealed courtesy.

"Do you think she is in pain or afraid?" Oberyn sits on the other side of the bed. He places a hand on their sister's forehead. Doran is sure her temperature feels much like her hand does...chilled.

"I do not know. After all we have seen in such a short time, I hold out hope that she will survive this just as she has overcome every other challenge the Gods have thrown at her."

"We have to help her, Doran." Oberyn's voice took on that edge of barely contained fury. When his brother straddled that precipice, it usually meant Doran would have to find a way to divert his brother's ire onto another topic. He had the perfect target in mind.

"We can and will by seeing the plan through."

"How so?"

"You must go to the Tower. Leave tomorrow. I will head back to Sunspear to make sure provisions are ready for you to leave in the morning. Take Leo, the Starks, and 30 of our men. Bring Rhaegar and the Stark girl here. Time is shifting away from our favor. We need to act now, or we risk losing our advantage."

"And our sister.." Oberyn anger lashed at Doran, but he sat there as stoically as he always had in the face of his brother's emotions.

"I will see that she is cared for. There is naught else for us to do. Ashara and Lemore will care for the Rhaenys and Aegon. Mellario and I will care for them and yours while you are gone as well. Uncle Lewyn will keep her protected and keep his gaze on his sworn brother. I will keep our guest contained while you are gone. The news of your departure and the reason why will keep their scent off of Elia's absence. We all have our parts to play."

"And what of Baratheon. Do you see him remaining here. What of Manfrey? Why did you not name him as one to come with me? What need do you have of him here?"

Doran considered his brother's questions before he responded. Unsure for a moment if he was incorrect in his assertion. Rising, the Prince of Dorne walked to the door. He had much to do to prepare for his brother and his entourage to depart. Turning to Oberyn, he replied.

"Ask them their preference. However, I think it wiser to keep Baratheon here. Once he sees with his own eyes that the Stark girl truly left with Rhaegar under her own authority, then he might end the man out of sheer spite. I will leave you to determine if you wish to deal with him. As for Manfrey, perhaps he will deign to go with you, but we all have our parts to play, as I said. Do not be surprised if Manfrey's path lies elsewhere."

Oberyn's dark eyes became even darker in the candlelit room. A light of awareness shone brightly in his brown gaze. He nods slowly before turning to their sister.

"Very well."

"Until tomorrow, brother," Doran called out as he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I didn't post what the river looked like in the last chapter. Well, here it is. A newly created river courtesy of Elia Martell and her water magic.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to GRRM. I am just playing with them from time to time.
> 
> Here is the next chapter...earlier than usual. Please accept it as an apology for my tardiness in putting out the last chapter and also in the celebration that WINTER BREAK IS HERE!!!!!!!
> 
> I will work on the next chapter this week and hopefully, I'll have it up and running by Monday. Let's see how much writing I can get done before I head back to work and school. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Elia knew she no longer walked in the world where her children and brother's resided. She was no longer in Dorne—no longer in the Water Gardens.

No, now Elia walked in a different kind of garden, perhaps better aptly called a forest. She stood below a canopy of trees, which just a smattering burst of sunlight that managed to push their intention through the thick branches and leaves to illuminate a path for her. In the distance, she could faintly hear the sound of water.

The water...Mother Rhoyne must be here. Elia prayed she was right. 

Turning towards, she began to slowly walk away.

As she continued to walk, the shards of sunlight provided gentle touches of warmth. The trees and the leaves seemed—dark, and not a vibrant color as one would expect, which the sun at the peak in the sky. For all its muted tones and her lack of companionship, Elia was cautious but not fearful. There was something about this place. She thought maybe this place's intent was to watchfully dissuade anyone from entering further into the woods. Elia did not think that warning applied to her, and she had yet to find a reason for her impressions.

What felt like forever, Elia walked and walked. When she felt weary, she stopped to rest on tree stumps. When she felt hungry, she found edible flowers and spongy sprouts to eat. Even though she makes gains to get closer to the water, the path just continued. If it weren't for the sound of water becoming stronger, Elia would have begun to thought she was walking the same path in a loop.

Even though she felt _welcomed_ , Elia remained vigilant. She noticed there were swarms of black ravens that flew above the canopy, but they made no noise, and never did they land to rest. Many trees were connected by webbing, with little birds caught in its snares. However, nary a spider nearby. She did notice the scent of lavender, lilacs, and rosewater.

Nevertheless, no other signs of the living beside her and the two silent yellowish-brown vipers with black zig-zags crossbands with a rust-colored stripe on its back. Even as they slithered on the grassy path, they made no sound. She had Oberyn had seen these before when they had left Dorne with their mother many years ago, and she had remembered hearing them hiss when her brother picked one up.

What did Ryn call it, she wondered.

_A timber rattlesnake..._

Elia heard the unfamiliar voice of a woman call out to her. She didn't know this voice, but she knew its owner was Dornish. Such a voice would be better suited surrounded by mountains and deserts, not a woodland, she mused, but then hadn't she left Dorne when she married.

After another long trek, Elia saw what appeared to be a circular opening that led to a clearing of some sort. She released a cry of relief. Once again, Elia was reminded that it was she who made any type of noise in the forest.

Large stone circles made a winding path over a pond that led to stone steps. The trees were long, tall, and heavy with foliage, but they were not canopied. Elia stood on a stone circle in the middle of the water and looked up to see a muted blue sky unencumbered by trees and the blinding sun. Looking ahead once again, Elia continued on. As she walked up the stairs, she noticed more space between the trees allowing her to clearly see what lay before her.

Turning back, she saw the birds clearly now. They were black ravens. Still, they continued to fly in a constant spiral above the canopied trees. It was as if they hadn't noticed her. Her dark eyes lowered to see a large white spider making a web at the mouth of her previous egress. Thick webbing connected one tree to the other. In that instance, Elia thought she would have been trapped inside and would have been unable to escape her fate. Again, she noticed the creature had not noticed her.

Thinking of the danger she just escaped, Elia considered the peril that was now behind her. She should not remain here, so she took another step and followed a new path. This time Elia's trek took her upward. The stairs ended, but the path remained as it went on an incline, taking her away from the water.

On her journey, she saw her viperous companions as they led the way. At times the paths diverged, but Elia kept following the snakes, for weren't they the sigil of her house. If there was ever a sign she needed to adhere to, then here they were.

Finally, the snakes came to a stone pathway. They were high in the hills of that Elia knew. The air was colder, crisper, and cleaner. Before her was a footpath that led to a stone archway, and behind that stood a tall castle covered in mist.

The snakes found purchase on her dress and slithered up her body. One curved around her right arm while the other found a home on her left shoulder. Both creatures were alert. Their heads pointing in the direction of the castle. Elia knew she should fear these snakes for they were poisonous, but again she felt the warning was not for her but rather targeted towards others.

With her head raised high, Elia proceeded down the trail laid before her.

The closer she got to the castle, the heavier the vapor became, making it harder for Elia to see what was before her. Tendrils of fear were beginning to stroke against the rapid beating of her heart. As she made her way to the courtyard, Elia could make out the outlines of a woman.

Tall in stature, the woman before her had a lovely face, long dark brown hair braided into a complex half knot, and brown eyes. There was something about her brows that reminded Elia of Arthur and Ashara. She wore a dark green dress that reminded her of the green woodlands Elia just walked through.

"Welcome, my child."

Elia knew she was alone and therefore knew the welcome was for her, but she could not lay claim to knowing who this woman was. She could hear the Dornish notes in her voice and could see how the woman was artfully adorned—she was royal.

"Hello, your Grace." Elia held her composure, but she was unsure of what was occurring. "I am Princess Elia Nymeros Martell. Forgive me, but I cannot seem to place our previous acquaintance. May I ask, who are you?"

The woman laughed. Her voice was lyrical—like a song.

"We have never met in your time, my child, but I have watched you just as I have watched all that came from my blood."

"Your blood? We are related."

"In a way. You are the mother to some of those who have blood."

"But we have never met before—in person."

"No, not until today."

Elia felt her heart clench. Had she died? Was this the afterlife? Had she failed? Her children, her brothers, her family. Her future—gone.

A raven's squawk startled Elia out of her rumination. Fear bloomed in the other woman's eyes. The snakes turned their heads to the clouded sky.

"Hurry, we mustn't be seen. Follow me."

Unsure of what to say, Elia trailed.

The women entered the castle, and the doors closed behind them before the raven could fly through the mist to land in the courtyard.

"I am sure you have many questions. We are prepared to answer as many as we can." They walked down a well-lit corridor.

The snakes left their post on Elia and slithered down. They now stood outside of each woman, almost serving as a bookend to them as they walked.

Up flights of stairs and through winding passageways, the women walked in quiet companionship. At the end of one particular path, Elia could see a large set of double-doors, and standing before them were men dressed in Kingsguard armor. The men bowed before opening the doors.

Elia was not sure what to expect, but what she found stole her breath. Before her were three ornate chairs. Two seats were occupied. The center sat a man who screamed Targaryen from the three-dragon golden crown to his short silver-white hair and purple eyes.

On his left side sat a dark-skinned woman. She was a bit darker than Elia, but Elia could see her eyes reflected back in this woman. This woman covered her head in a jeweled veil from head to toe. She wore a typical dress better suited for Dorne, even if Elia could see that her eyes were drawn to her husband's house colors of red and black. Her accessories noted her worth, but they didn't conform to Westerosi fashion—no, these pieces of jewelry celebrated Dorne.

But who was she?

"Please come in further, Princess Elia. You are quite safe here." The man spoke. His voice was firm, determined, yet gentle.

Elia proceeded, and out of the corner of her eyes, she watched as her escort took her place in the third seat. It didn't escape Elia's notice that the vipers who served as her companions on this wayward journey slithered away to coil their bodies beside the women who were clearly their mistresses.

As she took in the chamber and the people before her, Elia began to wonder why the snakes followed her. Where they watching me for them or where they watching me to protect me? Elia was not sure of the answer.

"I've yet to ascertain where here is or whether I am safe. The response to the first question provides clarity for the second. Currently, I am in possession of more questions than I have answers...your Grace."

Elia could hear the questioning doubt in her _"your Grace."_

The man chortled as the woman on his left smiled widely.

"I could only imagine what must be running across your mind. Perhaps it would be best if we opened the floor to you. What is it you wish to know?"

"Am I dead?'

"No," the man responded.

"Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here?"

The three people seated on the dais looked towards each other before the woman who escorted her spoke.

"You are not dead, but you are in a realm where death has not invited you, but it would not turn you away should you wish to stay. We live here because we accepted The Strangers kiss decades ago. It is our home. My name is Princess Dyanna Dayne." The woman turned to her companions.

"I am, was, King Daeron Targaryen II," the man turned and extended his hand to gesture to the woman beside him, "this beauty is my wife—"

"Queen Myriah Nymeros Martell..." Elia's voice came out in a whispered breath. In the silence of the chamber, her voice echoed like a thundering boom.

Elia felt her body lean over, hands on her knees as she closed her eyes to shut out the world as she tried to catch her breath. She took deep breaths, shallow ones until there were moments when she held them until her lungs reminded her that she still need air. 

Confusion surrounded her, making it impossible for Elia to get her bearings. Taking another breath and finding the strength to rise. With her back straight and her head held high, Elia found herself meeting the direct gaze of her kin.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. This is who she was and who she always would be.

"Magnificent, Myriah." The King whispered.

"She is of Dorne. She is from my brother's blood and that of mine. She could be nothing less."

"Let us not forget she is of my sister as well—of _Fire and Blood._ "

"The sister who loved another..." Myriah replied with an arched expression on her striking face.

"And yet was dutiful by all accounts. She gave Maron many children whose descendants still live today. She understood doing what was best for the realm despite her personal desires. A trait it seems we were not able to pass on to all of our direct line."

The Dornish Queen sighed.

"The truth can be brutally told, husband, but alas, I must agree with your sentiment. Yes, standing before us is some of the best of our bloodlines."

Elia watched the exchange awaiting a lull before she interjected with a repeat of her last question, but Queen Myriah responded before Elia could.

"I think we have covered who we are and where we are, but not the why. You have been patient enough, but I can see your tolerance is growing thin. Though I must say, you are circumspect about it."

The woman rose and motioned for Elia to meet her in the hall's center where a marble Valois water fountain stood. It was a graceful basin that sat atop a square molded pedestal. Elia could see their reflections in the water and nothing else.

"You are here, Elia because the Mothers seek shelter and protection for you."

"The Mothers?"

"You have met Mother Rhoyne, yes."

"I have. You have seen her too."

"As a daughter of Dorne, of course, I have. Granted, I had to pass on to receive such a gift—unlike you. You also know other gods reside on Westeros beside the Rhoynish ones."

"Yes. Is this why I am here? Is there a conflict between them?"

"Indeed, there is. I think gods are like people. Some are content trying to be the best versions of themselves. Simultaneously, others are determined to be angry and hurtful because it is in that chaos that they find a perverse kind of joy. There are frictions and growing fractions, but there seems to be none between Mother Rhoyne and The Mother of the Sevens. It is because of them you are here."

"It was them who brought me here when Manfrey and the others returned to the pool."

"No, it was another kind of sorcery that holds to its own gods. They are stopping you from waking up in your time. If they could destroy you here, then as Princess Dyanna said, you would be welcomed to stay. Your survival threatens so much. If you are successful in your plans to remove your husband and install your son, then it impedes the future plans of beings who are very powerful."

Elia gaze slowly moved away from the woman beside her. She was being kept here because, once again, others wanted to see the end of her. What had she ever done other than to be born a girl who was dutiful to deserve the fate of a horrible death? As a sickly child, it seems The Stranger was always nearby. Then she became a wife and mother, with each birth bringing the final kiss towards her as it hovered over her lips. Now it looks like her brothers and cousins diverted her from one path leading to death for her to end up on another trail destined for the same outcome.

"Why do I feel like my fate will be to die? That I am just postponing the inevitable."

"Because you are. I don't mean that to sound callous. It's just that we are all on a road that leads to one final destination, Elia. We all share the same fate. Perhaps you could consider that we are circumventing _fate's_ plan for us every day we are alive. This might be another day of you evading your end—if only for one more day."

Elia pondered the Queen's words.

"Very well. I stay here protected, but this doesn't get me back to my home, my family. What must I do to return? Time is limited in my time. There is much to do, and I need to be there for it to work out."

"You have started the work."

The Queen pointed to the water, and Elia's gaze followed. She was surprised to see a scene unfolding before her. It was dark, and mist surrounded a man as he walked through the woods. Like a painting Ashara loved to paint of the sand and sea, the image before her was so far away.

"Who is this?"

"Take a minute to consider your own question. We may be hiding you from prying eyes who wish your death, but there is much you can still learn here. The water will show you the way."

Elia found herself reaching out to the Dornish Queen. Their hands squeezed each other tightly.

"Seek the water..." Elia spoke quietly so that only her words were heard between the two.

Myriah nodded as she smiled. Cupping Elia's face between her long slender fingers, she rested her head against Elia's.

"The water was your way into this world, and it will be your way out. You are clever and smart, Elia. Though you are strong and mystical in your own right, a warrior, you are not. My husband was very much the same—minus the mystical. Look into the fountain. Watch and learn. When the time comes, you'll find your champion, just as he found his in me."

Elia pulled away in surprise.

"You? You're a warrior."

"I will not try to take offense at the surprise. I handled a staff like no other. There was never one far from my reach when I lived in Dragonstone and then moved to the Red Keep. Even your own mother was adept with deadly skills of her own."

"She had an affinity for poised blades. How did you know? She kept that part of herself so separate from the Princess of Dorne everyone saw. I have a niece who reminds me of her."

"Death can have its advantages, Elia. I see much when I am motivated."

Elia returned her thoughts to a champion. Did she want one? Could she survive this without one?

"I do not want a champion. I can champion myself..."

The woman tilted her head as her eyes tracked Elia's expression.

"...but I am amenable to a companion. The world, our world—it does not thrive without them."

The former queen smiled at her as she nodded.

"Yes, champion implies weakness that I do not think fits with the woman before me. Very well, keep your eyes open for the opportunity to depart this realm. Your _companion_ will make themselves known, though I think you might know who they are. On the word of honor from one Dornish woman to another, when the time is right, you will return safely back to your home.

Nodding, Elia returned her gaze to the fountain. She reached her hand out and, with a fortifying breath, dipped her fingers into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are the images that inspired this chapter. You might have gleaned some clues as to who is keeping Elia in this limbo state, and who her champion might be...👀


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are GRRM's toys I am just playing with them.

Oberyn sat beside his sister, and he held her hand.

Elia was so unmoving, and yet the vibrancy he associated with his sister seemed to ripple on occasion under the surface of her stillness. Over the course of three days, his memories of their time in the pools replays in his head.

Since they have found this gift, they all have had the opportunity to slip in and out of visions simply by disconnecting from one reality into another. Yet this last trip, Elia, it appears, can enter more than one experience. When they came back, Oberyn surmised Elia just slipped further away.

He doesn't know how long he sat in a room that could become his sister's living tomb, but the subtle change in the desert air told him he had maybe a couple of hours before the sun rose. A long ride was in his immediate future. He knew his hatred and anger alone was not enough to guarantee his success in securing Rhaegar, and the treacherous gits with him.

Oberyn had to keep his eyes on those who accompanied them, especially the Starks. He knows there is a difference between passing judgment on a person you love and executing the judgment. Should Baratheon come as well, which Oberyn had no doubt he would, he would have to keep the man well-guarded.

The Dornish prince did not look forward to the pain of saying goodbye to his daughters—again. He had been gone for such a long time, and now he was to leave again. Oberyn was raising his daughters to be strong and stand on their own, but he was always aware of how tied they were to him. He once admitted to Leo that he enjoyed traversing the double-edge blade of pushing his daughters away while holding them close.

Oberyn loved his daughters. They may not have been planned, but they were his, and he owed no one an explanation or justification for their existence. Once again, he was leaving them, and that is what they understood. Nym and Tynene would look at him with wet eyes. Sarella's orbs would be filled with confusion mixed with doubt—and Obara, her gaze would shutter close any and all essence of her true feelings. She would be the dutiful big sister who worked to keep her siblings in line. Even he, the youngest son of the former Princess of Dorne, knew that a parent's good intention can fall under the weight of a duty larger than parenthood.

Clearing his troubled thoughts with a shake of his head, Oberyn released a sigh.

Time was limited, and they would have to leave early and ride hard. Oberyn needed some rest though it killed him to admit.

"I have to go, Elia, but I think you already know that."

Silence

Oberyn turned away as he shut his eyes tightly. Bringing Elia's hand to his lips, Oberyn pressed a kiss to her palm.

"I will go do your bidding as I used to when we were children. I expect that you will still be here when I return."

Tears glazed over his eyes as he tried to take in the features of his clever, strong, and beautiful sister. Leaning in to whisper in her ear.

"Heed my words, Ellie. I will return, and when I do, you best be ready to shine as you are meant to do. The world does not know it, but all eyes will be on you to see this through. Do not give that man the luxury of weaseling out of his fate. Do not leave your children in the care of that man and his whore. I know you do not appreciate the use of the word, but this is an indelicate situation that requires indelicate vocabulary."

Silence

"I love you, Ellie. I am not a man prone to begging, but I beseech you to return. I have never known what it is to live without you. Yes, you lived in Dragonstone and the Red Keep for a time, but you still existed in the world, and that truth tethers me. I do not know who or what I may become should I lose you. It is a fate I do not wish to explore...so, please come back, sister."

Silence

With one kiss again her brow, Oberyn lit another candle and said a sincere prayer to Mother Rhoyne. Unable to let the last image of his sister be in the grips of death, Oberyn left Elia's chamber without a backward glance.

*****

In a dark chamber, a man fretted in his sleep. In his dream state, he was young, just a boy. He had been teased by his cousins for wishing to stay close to the family's dwellings and away from the pools. Their childish voice floated along, making their way to his ears and most probably—hers.

A Nymeros Martell he was, and their taunts bothered him little. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken were his house words.

He could ignore their silly words, or Doran's poorly hidden smirk behind a cup of wine, or the shameless grin the Prince Consort of Dorne spared him. When his parents were near, he could pretend he didn't feel his smiling eyes gaze upon his person.

The only person he found it hard to dismiss was the kind and worrisome stares of Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell.

While his cousin Elia was resting, Manfrey sat quietly on a chair placed by her bed. He remained silent in his observation of her. She was small and held a purple pillow close to her face as she slept deeply.

Manfrey knew many watched over her, but he felt compelled to watch over her for a reason. It had been a drive within him for as long as he could remember. Voices at the door alerted him to visitors entering Elia's chambers. Knowing he shouldn't be here, Manfrey jumped quickly from the chair and ran to a secret door that allowed him to hide in the walls. The man in him remembered fondly how much he and his cousins enjoyed chasing after each other using the intricate maze in their summer home's hidden walls and secret passageways.

Quietly he peeked through an artfully designed hole in the wall to see how had entered the chambers. It was the Princess and her Consort. Fear of being discovered by them froze any desire he had to fidget as young boys were known to do. His father had spoken to him often, no doubt on behalf of his cousin and her husband, to stay away from Elia when she had a spell. If caught, his father would not be pleased. This did not bode well for Manfrey.

The man kissed Elia's head and then her hand before placing the small hand into his wife's.

"Are you sure you don't want me to speak? I can do it if you'd prefer."

Head lifted, Princess Lorenza, pulled her husband's head down and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"I am not one to hide away from hard conversations. You know this of me."

"That I do."

"Besides, it was I misread the signs; therefore, it must be I who speaks to him as I am the one who sent them on these diverged paths."

Manfrey watched as the Prince Consort gave his wife a smile that spoke of understanding and sympathy. He kissed her and Elia once again before he left the chamber. Thinking he was breathing too heavily, Manfrey tried to calm his breath.

"Quieting your breath, dear, will not make your presence less known. Come here, Manfrey."

Lifting his head in a silent prayer to any god who would take pity on him, Manfrey huffed out a breath, pulled back his shoulders, took a calming breath, and presented himself to The Princess.

He remembers thinking that Princess Lorenza was beautiful. Elia had her eyes and smile though the Princess was of a warm olive tone like him and unlike her daughter's deeper shade. Little even knew how the curl of their hair was similar as The Princess kept her hair up and covered as was the way in Dorne. She beckoned Manfrey with a gentle wave of her hand, and he could see how her fingers were long and slender—like Elia's.

Standing before Princess Lorenza, Manfrey kept his eyes on her and refused to avert them. No, I am a Nymeros Martell, he told himself. We are unbent, unbowed, and unbroken for no one. Not even our Princess or our family. It is how we remain strong.

The Princess released Elia's hand and cupped his face. Her gaze was intent, yet sorrowful but determined. She ran her fingers through his curls as one hand held his face close to hers. While she was a figure bigger than life because she was their Princess, she was adored by those like him who were fortunate to be loved by her.

"I am sorry, Cousin Lorenza." A name she gave him permission to use when they were in a private audience.

"Why do you apologize? Does the sun apologize to the night before the sun rises? Does the moon beg the pardon of the sun before it sets? I do not think so. They would not, and neither should you. I know who and what you are to my daughter and who and what she is to you. Though I will admit, it took me too long to see. For that, it is I who owes you an apology."

Surprised and confused, Manfrey remained silent, for he wasn't sure how to respond. Why would The Princess apologize to him? She is The Princess of Dorne, and he is nothing but a small boy, but then there is a part of him that knows he is a man and that his memory is not true.

"I see in your eyes that you are beginning to awaken, Manfrey. Your past and present blurring into one."

Manfrey looked up to see a mirror hanging behind Princess Lorenza. He was no longer a boy, but rather a man grown. Turning to the bed, he saw Elia. She was still asleep with the pillow clutched to her, but she was a woman. In fact, she looked just as he had placed her on the bed three—almost four days ago.

Unable to stay away, Manfrey sat beside Elia and reached for her hand. He just stared at her as silence reclaimed the room once again.

"I knew you loved her.  
I knew a union with you would have made her happy, for she loved you too. Love is not a given for people of our station. I was fortunate to find such with my husband, but affection grew over time, and there were no guarantees. As a daughter of The Princess of Dorne, Elia was expected to marry well and further the interest of her house and people. It sounds callous, but it is how we survive. We build intricate webs that bind us in a way that provides protection and longevity—or rather it should."

"Elia's marriage to Rhaegar provided neither. It ended her, and in a long game, The Stranger came for us all. Ending our house." Manfrey could hear the curtness in his voice.

"Hmmm...you survived. Your line continues our house. The grandson of my father's youngest and only brother."

"I..." Manfrey trailed.

"Yes, you..."

"I become a different man. I did not share that on the ship with Oberyn and Leo when we saw what would have happened. I do not remain the same man before you. Trust me when I tell you the House Martell that you know would have died when our family did. I started to lose myself when we lost her. We lost her, and we lost ourselves."

Glancing over, Manfrey noticed Princess Lorenza turning to look at the altar of water, incense, and candles. A pained visage overtakes her beautifully regal features.

"It seems there are rare opportunities for one to the right the wrongs of their past. Mother Rhoyne protects us. She is quite overt with her signs, and we would be foolish not to heed them. For a time, I was blinded by the symbols that should have warned me away from agreeing to marry Elia to the Targaryens. Sometimes one does not know if a sign is false until it is too late. I know now that those signals I took as blessings came from a source with intents even I could not have foreseen."

"I do not understand."

"Let me enlighten you. Every Prince or Princess of Dorne has been touched with the sight. Myriah had it and passed it down to her blood. Maron had it as well. Ruling Nymeros Martell's have always known of this ability. I had taken the images I saw as warnings and blessings, but they did not come from the Rhoynish Gods, no they came from another."

"Another? Who?"

"Someone who is angry with Daeron and Myriah's like—someone who is angry with the realm. It is they who keep Elia from us. She resides far from this realm in protection for now. She cannot remain there forever, and it is only you who can help her to find her way back."

"Where is she? Why is it only I? I could go to Doran now, and we can have thousands of spears to retrieve her."

"I think you know why it must be you. She resides in a place only you can go to. Many have tried from childhood to manhood and failed—everyone but you."

Manfrey tore his gaze from the Princess to look at Elia. He had gone his whole life thinking he had been discreet in his love for her, but if truth be told if only to himself, he knew he had done a poor job of it. The ribbing of his male cousins, the sad visage on Doran's face when he told Manfrey that he was of an age that perhaps he should search of his own wife. The warm solid hand of his father on his shoulder as he stood in the Sept of Baelor while Elia married Rhaegar.

Closing his eyes in an effort to stop the images of treasured shared moments from their childhood to the day, she told him she was to marry Rhaegar. Manfrey could feel his heart shatter and repair hundreds of times over. Years had passed, and they were different people now, but it seems that the gods continue to tether them together. If he was honest with himself, he knew he loved Elia still.

Gods, she was so still. It frightened him how unmovable she was. Her body was here, but her spirit was not. Manfrey thought of places she could have resided and found his thoughts going to one place.

 _She resides in a place only you can go."_ An seasoned man's voice whispered.

In that instance, Manfrey knew where to go.

He looked back to where the Princess of Dorne sat. They stared into each other's eyes until The Princess sent him a nod. Turning to Elia, he brought himself closer to her. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear.

"Wait for me, Ellie. I am coming, my love."

Placing a gentle kiss on her brow. Manfrey sat up. He looked back to the Princess.

"Before you leave, beware of the bloody raven. I wish I had. Guard your thoughts and your heart, for it does not need your attention. Try to curb its eyes but beware, it has many."

"Noted. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

The Princess nodded gravely.

"If you see little birds on a web, do not attempt to save them, for they are willing slaves to the spider. They will only lure you in so that the spider can see to your peril. They will not see you as a savior or thank you in any way. Guard yourself, Manfrey."

"I am a Nymeros Martell and a viper in my own right."

The Princess laughed. She reached out to cup his face once again. She intently looked into his eyes as though she was searching for something.

"Yes, you are."

The Princess rose and placed a kiss on the top of his head, and in an instance, Manfrey found himself away and once again in his own bed.

Rising up, Manfrey shook his head to clear the shattered thought in his head. Through all the messages, one thing ran true. He had to get to Elia, and he knew that could not happen if he went with Oberyn and Leo to the Tower.

Manfrey made his way to the large group of men. Some on horses, some securing good on their horses. He could see the Stark brothers standing Jon Arryn—a sight that had become increasingly common in Sunspear, Manfrey thought.

Robert Baratheon sat on his horse, as did Baelor Hightower. It seemed the Tully, and elder Hightower chose to remain behind with Princess Rhaelle.

Doran stood in front of Oberyn and Leo, the men sharing a traditional Dornish goodbye. Manfrey made his way to them.

"You are not ready," Leo noted, for no man would travel into the desert with little protection.

"You are not going." Oberyn surmised. Manfrey could see bewilderment in his eyes and hear it in the tone of his voice.

"I am not. I am needed here."

The two cousins turned to Doran.

"What could you need him for?" Oberyn inquired.

"He should be there to help bring that lizard back to Sunspear." Leo countered.

Doran kept his dark gaze on Manfrey's face. The Prince shook his head.

"He does not stay on my account, but I think he stays for another."

"Who would rate higher than securing Rhaegar for Elia?" Leo argued.

"Elia. Elia would rate higher in esteem, wouldn't you agree." Doran countered.

"My path doesn't take me to the Tower, at least not as it stands. I think I know of a way to bring her back, but I can't do it if I go with you. I need to stay here."

Manfrey hoped his voice conveyed how much he wanted to be with his cousins but that he had another purpose here—with her.

The men stood in silence before Oberyn pulled Manfrey into a tight embrace.

"You bring her back, Manny. Please bring her back."

Manfrey pulled his cousin in close. They rested their crowns on each other.

An unspoken conversation was had between the men before Oberyn pulled away and went to his horse.

Leo pulled Manfrey into a similar embrace, but this time the conversation was not silent but private.

"It seems we both have a job to do. I will keep him from killing the Targaryen Prince, and you have the task of saving your beloved."

"Leo, she isn't..."

"I think the time has passed for subtly. She may not, but you do. The gods have bound you to each other. Trust in that, and it should lead you to her. Take care, brother."

Manfrey nodded. Leo strode to his horse and lifted himself astride. He looked down towards Manfrey.

"Same to you," Manfrey called out. "Though I think I got the easier task of us two."

Leo released a bellow of a laugh and nodded.

Their attention was pulled towards Oberyn when he released a blood-curdling howl, and the men on horses fled out of the gates as though the stranger chased behind them.

"I think you may be right, Manny."

Without another glance, Leo rode off after Oberyn.

Manfrey could feel Doran beside him. He could feel his cousin's eyes on him.

"Where are you off to? Should I organize men for you as well?"

Manfrey just shook his head. He went to the lone horse whose reins were held by a servant. His horse. He climbed on the back of the massive sand steed and looked over at his cousin.

"I require nothing. I have all I need for where I am going."

Doran lifted his hand, and Manfrey clasped it. They may not have been close like he was with Oberyn and Leonidas, but Doran had always understood him. He was family.

"Be well, Manfrey, and I wish you good fortune in whatever the gods have chosen for you to do."

Manfrey smiled at his cousin.

"Daresay, I may need it."

Turning his horse to the gate, Manfrey rode in the opposite direction of his cousins. He rode like death's kiss was just shy of his lips. He rode and rode.

There before him was another gate. Entering the courtyard, Manfrey brought his horse to a barely a stop as he jumped off his mount. He walked along the passageways. Nobody stopped him, not even Ashara when she saw him walk by her and the children to Elia's chambers.

Manfrey found Elia much like he had seen her in the dream. Just for a moment, he questioned his plan. Pushing aside his doubt, he opened the hidden door from his dream. Manfrey lifted Elia into his arms and proceeded to follow the private passage from Elia's chambers to the pools—to Elia's pool.

Finding the right door, he pushed it open with his back. Elia did not stir in the least. He carefully walked down the steps of the pool. The water began to ripple, small waves grew into larger ones. Manfrey swam out to the coldest part of the pool with Elia in his arms. Looking above, he prayed once more to Mother Rhoyne that he was right.

It was then that he caught a black bird circling around as though it was looking for a place to perch. Manfrey looked down at Elia and knew he needed to let her go. That is what he did. Releasing Elia into the water, she sank to the bottom before the bird landed on a branch. Manfrey could see that this bird was truly a raven. He felt as if the bird was watching him as though it was staring him straight in the eye. Why was it here? Such a creature would know to go to the rookery. Was this the bird Princess Lorenza had warned him of?

Without further thought, Manfrey swam after Elia. Finding her lying down on the bottom of the pool, Manfrey took a deep breath, and his body floated down beside hers as his consciousness took flight. He opened his eyes and found himself in a wooded canyon surrounded by mist. The sky, a dark overcast of gray as a flock of ravens, flew in a swarm.

Manfrey looked behind him, and the sky was litter with birds. The trees had large webs with a small bird trapped inside. He remembered Princess Lorenza's words once again. Turning away, he looked in the other direction. The birds seemed not to fly past as though there was a line preventing them from doing so.

Walking in that direction, Manfrey heard the disruption of small stones. Looking towards the sounds, he could see a bluish colored crab. The crab-walked past him. Manfrey shook his head. Had he fallen and hit his head. The crab stopped quite a distance away and turned to look at Manfrey. With a claw, it beckoned him to follow before it returned on his journey. Manfrey questioned his sanity and thought it better to follow a crab as he was already warned against the ravens and the spiders.

Finding a cloak of furs on his person, Manfrey wrapped himself further into its warmth as he followed the path of what he considered the lesser evil before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter offered some clarity. 
> 
> Kudos to those who guessed who the champion is, or as Elia would like to call him--companion. 
> 
> Well done to those who guessed Bloodraven as having something to do with the comings and goings. There still is one other player that nobody has mentioned. I wonder if he is clearer to you now. Can you guess who is Manfrey will meet next? 
> 
> The next chapter is up for grabs...lol. I might continue with Manfrey's journey or maybe Elia...where she will look to see what is happening while she sleeps.
> 
> Any preference? 
> 
> Oh and here is where Manfrey found himself...what a place to start a journey...yikes!  
> 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to GRRM and HBO since he sold some rights.
> 
> I am dreading this chapter. Some of you may love it. Some of you may not...yikes!

Manfrey found himself walking until the canyon held only trees and the ground was made of dirt. The pebbled stone of the canyon floor long gone away. The sun is nowhere to be found and the chill in the air has made its appearance known. In the far distance, the sound of water lapping against a shore could be heard. 

Mindful of his steps, the Dornishman made it a point to avoid stepping on the crab that continued to join him on his journey. The louder the water became the more frenetic the crab had become. In the immediate distance, he could see a clearing of trees where the land dipped into a calm lake. 

Time is odd here. He doesn’t know how long he has been in his place but he has yet seen a sign of Elia or a clue to her whereabouts. All he has done is stayed clear of ravens, spiders, all the while following a large crab. Gods, he must have hit his head for this is lunacy, but then in tandem, he had the feeling he was on the right path. 

The crab ran full tilt with his claw raised. Manfrey wasn’t sure if the creature was running into trouble or bliss. With a flurried splash his seafaring companion was gone. A gentle ripple of water from where he submerged himself. 

Silence surrounded Manfrey. He looked around trying to find a sign as to his next move. Nearby was a rowboat and in the distance, on the other side of the river, he could see a windmill. I must be near a farm, he thought.

“Perhaps my path takes me to the other side,” Manfrey says aloud. His eyes on the horizon before him. 

“Yes, it does, but not until you and I are through.”

A cold and clear voice called out.

Reaching for his spear, Manfrey stepped back as he pulled it forward with the tip pointed downward from whence the sound came. He thought his eyes were betraying him, so he blinks hard but quickly as not to take his eyes off of his opponent. 

From the river, was an old man whose head rose high enough to allow his speech to be unfettered. He was pale like death with eyes a reddish-blue, a purplish hue. Much like the hue of the crab Manfrey had followed. This man wore the colors of the Targaryens, but to Manfrey the man didn’t quite belong. 

“Who are you?”

“I am one of yours. I am of the Rhoyne though Mother Rhoyne would prefer at times that I was not. Her husband and I have never really been on the best of terms. Nevertheless, I serve my purpose as I was made too and therefore she ignores me at best or tolerates me at worst. There have even been occasions, such as now, where she even is fond of my presence.” 

Manfrey’s mind considered all the possibilities of who this man could be and once the recognition hit, it showed in his eyes. He could tell because the man gave him a dark smirk. Raising his head and releasing a bark of laughter, Manfrey relaxed the stance of the spear as he studied the god before him. 

“You are the Crab King. The great nemesis to the Old Man of the River.”

“You are correct on one count. I am the Crab King.” 

The god in the form of a man rose out of the water. 

“But I beg to differ on your account that I am the great nemesis. Have you ever once considered that perhaps it is the Old Man of the River that is the true claimant to that title—the true foe?”

“Does the quality of my answer determine how quickly I can ascertain why I am here and will it get me to Elia faster?”

The man considered Manfrey for a bit before nodding his head. 

“If this were another time and another game, then yes. But time is of the essence and there is much you need to know. We thought we had more time to show Elia the dangers that face her. We had not counted on the bloody raven or the spider nor did we anticipate the dark arts that follow them. Though the pantheon of Rhoynish gods grow strong we are still bound by limitations. Do not fear though we have found a way to work around them. That is what brings you here.”

Manfrey nodded for the god to continue.

“There is a plot by two, one who does not know of the other, with one intent and that is to see the end of House Targaryen. The spider thinks no one is aware of his intent. A discarded descendent from the bastard of a trueborn who was sired by a Great Bastard and so the story goes. Even blood removed many times over in bastardy will still hold the blood of kings. A follower of R’hllor knew this to be true and sacrificed part of the boy your foe once was. Since that day it has bound together with the man and the god, though the former is unaware of that relatioship.”

The water is disturbed by many crabs clamoring onto the shore, but the God before him does not pause.

“Surprisingly he survives and finds kin in another refuse. Together they build their gold as he builds his empire of mice. When word of his gift of securing secrets made it to the ear of the man you call King, he was summoned to Westeros where he built his network of birds. His aim still rings true as he whispers poison into the King making your sovereign irrational and wild. A combination much more destructive than this wildfire he claims to idolize.”

The air became colder if that were even possible. There was no wind but Manfrey could feel the chill down to the marrow of his bones. 

“Beware of the Spider, for that is what he is called. Destroy him before he devastates you. It is he who whispers betrayal into the ears of the King. He tells the King that everyone is a betrayer...everyone but him. You have begun to see the effects. The death of that Lord and his son. The demand for the heads of men whose only crime was to be related by blood or by potential marriage. The Spider will see all the Houses fall, even Rhaegar—Elia, if it means he can keep the King in his web. He that controls the King, controls the realm.”

Manfrey had learned from Oberyn that a eunuch from Pentos had arrived in court making a disturbance of sorts in how the King had bestowed great favor on a man who was not of Westeros and therefore not Westerosi. He remembers his cousin’s crude assessment of this news.

_“Well if I sat on the Small Council I would be weary of that one.”_

Oberyn murmured as his eyes continued to scan the letter as he tapped the dagger in his hand on the desk.

 _“Why is that?”_ Leo asked before taking a long sip of Arbor Gold. 

_“Because a man with balls can be reckless, and even in that rashness there is a part of him that knows there is a price that comes with losing. The loss of face—it is there even for the most thoughtless of men.”_

_“Do you count yourself in that assessment?”_

The cousins laughed.

“Ah, yes I do. But this man—a eunuch, any man who underwent the loss of his balls learned to lose his face long ago and he would have had to redefine comfort in that loss—or die. In fact, he would have learned how to have many faces. I imagine the right visage to fit the right moment.”

Oberyn looked up that them, sitting forward as he wagged the blade at them. 

_“He truly has nothing to fear should he fall, and that my brothers makes for a very dangerous man.”_

Little did they know how true Oberyn’s words were or how grand a game the Spider was playing. 

“Why does he wish the realm to fall?”

“He would prefer that the people do not suffer. The poor and weak or so he says. He grew up with his own stories of how his ancestor Aenys returned to Westeros in good faith only to be...”

“Executed by Lord Brynden—” Manfrey recalled his countless lessons on the history of the Great Houses.

“Bloodraven” The Crab King continued.

“—Rivers.” The bloody raven...Bloodraven. Manfrey could feel the shock ripple through him. He felt himself physically recoil.

How could that be? The man died decades ago, hadn’t he? The Wall. He was sent to the Wall and it was there that he was thought dead when he didn’t return from a range. Yes, that is how the story was told to him and his cousins so many years ago.

“If things had been different, the eunuch believes his suffering would never have existed, and neither would it have come to be for so many Blackfyres—trueborn or no. So, he plans to self-correct. For a time, he will rule behind prying eyes until a day comes that he can install one of his own kin. A Blackfyre hidden from view.” 

The God lifts his head up to the sky and releases a loud bark of laughter. 

“Human vanity still astounds me after all these years. Little does the Spider know he has an opponent of his own. One who is enjoying the havoc the webbed one is playing for it fits into his plan perfectly. I worry how the tides will change when they begin to work cross-purpose to each other, but then I suppose if I have done my part right we will never know.”

“Bloodraven—”

“Yes. He was a staunch supporter of his half-brother Daeron II. A true Targaryen loyalist once upon a time. He has the blood of Valyria and of the Old Gods. Remember bastard or no, the blood of a King will always bleed through. Marked from birth, literally, he became more than a legitimized Great Bastard.”

“What did he become?”

“Hmmm...something the Old Gods it seems didn’t anticipate. You see people blessed with the gifts from these Gods tend to use them without too much folly, but he was destined to be more than a simple greenseer. He became the last greenseer, a most powerful one. The man who once lost an eye in defense of his family’s House eventually found himself with thousands of orbs witnessing anything he chose to see. He learned about desires, motivations, and wants. It was this that spurred him to learn how to manipulate his gift in a way the Gods could not have foreseen.”

“What has he done? Why is he a threat now? What purpose does it serve assuming he is alive?

“He is the one who has filled this Rhaegar with these dreams he sees as prophecies. It was he who took the kernel of wonder the Prince had about the Stark girl and he made it grow until it consumed him. It was no easy feat for there were many moments when the Prince thought to move back and away from her—he remembered his wife and how fond he was of her and their children. Sadly, that fondness was not strong enough it seems. Not when such a mal-force made certain letters would arrive at just the right time to sway the prince’s opinions.”

“Those that protect him call him the Three-Eyed Raven. At times he would make his spirit overtake his nephew Aemon and he would read and reply to Rhaegar about these _dreams_ under the guise of that he was the Maester at The Wall. I imagine there was some satisfaction in this for the man considering it was Maester Aemon who suggested that Bloodraven should be imprisoned in the Red Keep’s dungeons.”

“This monster fed Rhaegar this insanity.” Anger laced each word out of Manfrey’s mouth. Though his mind tried to make sense of all he heard, anger was the feeling he could identify, and therefore it was the one he held on to.

“Yes, from the time he was a young boy until now. Betrayal makes one act in ways outside of their usual character. This you know to be true. Though you love her, the betrayal of her husband has granted Elia the permission to release a side of herself that demands justice for the slight of simply doing her duty. This Bloodraven is no different.”

“Elia is trying to prevent a war. That is a far cry from what Bloodraven wants.”

“I won’t disagree, but the outcome isn’t the similarity I am trying to draw. It is the reason. Betrayal and an infusion of magic led to his machinations. It empowered him to do so. Elia is no different. After Aegon V had been installed as King, he had the once Targaryen loyalist arrested for the murder of Aenys. Do you know what his last words at his trial?”

Manfrey shook his head, his expression grave.

“He argued that he sacrificed his honor for the good of the realm. However, that was not enough for the new King to pardon him. Death or The Wall, those were his choices and you know the path he took. All his life had been in service to his father’s court, then to his brother’s, and then his nephews. He made hard and harsh choices, but the protection of the Targaryen legacy was always his goal. In the end, it matters not. Now he is incentivized to watch it crumble and burn. Don’t forget I know you have seen what would have become of your world. Focusing his efforts to bring forth a child, Rhaegar sealed the fate of Elia, his children, and his House but it also opened the door to horrors that lie dormant beyond this Wall.”

“I am not blind to the feelings you have for Elia. Such power that she holds. You have no idea how powerful she is, and without an anchor to counter her thoughts she is open to becoming just as corrupted as Bloodraven. He has existed so long without another to challenge his righteous anger. Now, look at what he has become. If you love her as I know you do, then you will dare to do what others will not.”

Manfrey measured the deity’s words. He knew from stories that he was God that followed adhered to rules and boundaries. A trickster the god was not known to be. Predictable and set in his ways, yes. The moon and the water commanded him or so the legends said. His strife with the Old Man of the River was rooted in that—rules and boundaries. How those lines shift depending on who you are, Manfrey thought. Releasing some of his doubt and caution, Manfrey nodded in understanding. 

“You must go. Trust others only when you must. Seek the water. It will tell you the same as it will tell her. The water does not lie. It only reflects what it sees. How you interpret that—well that is up to you.”

Feeling a dull nip at his boot, Manfrey looked down to see a cast of crabs walking slowly and trying to edge him towards the water. He finds himself moving just a bit.

“Beware of the perfumed seneschal. Lavender, lilac, and rosewater masks the stench of the manure he is trading in. Watch for children—work against your ingrained behavior and notice them for that could be the difference between your survival or demise.”

The old God turns away from him and starts to walk further into the river.

“You must be constantly vigilant of the ravens. Better yet of all creatures. They are a source of how the Three-Eyed Raven garners his information.”

The water was once again high and just below his mouth.

“Like Elia, he too can see the past and the present. I think such a gift allows one to predict a future as well. A skill I think the Princess could cultivate.”

The crabs forced him to take another step closer to the edge of the water.

“How do I get back to Elia?”

The god looked more like a father admonishing a child.

“Do you still not understand? Here you came so far. Consider how you have done that. Always remember whatever your future may hold, you will always find her...”

 _“Seek the water.”_ A woman’s voice whispered. Her words wrapping like a curl around his ear.

Manfrey’s tore his gaze away from the god before him to settle his eyes onto the surface of the water. There she was, Elia. She was in a chamber of some sort. His Princess was looking down. Did she see him? She saw her lift her head to speak to someone—another woman who looked Dornish. Elia looked down once again and slowly lowered her hand. Manfrey lifted his own to meet hers just as his booted foot touched the water.

 _Take a breath_ A voice screeched.

A flash of light burned so brightly that Manfrey shut his eyes. Darkness returned freeing him to open his eyes.

There she was. Elia.

She threw herself into his arms. Manfrey wrapped one arm around her waist as he pulled her flush against him. Another hand found purchase in her hair as he brought her crown to his. This closeness he knew to be inappropriate, but in this instance, he did not care. He could have lost her. The Dornishman watched as her eyes filled with tears. Both of them panting as though they had run through the Red Mountains. Manfrey grazed a thumb against her cheek, remembering himself once again before lowering his head to place a tender kiss against her temple. 

“You found me.”

“I will always find you, Ellie.”

“How do we get out of here? We must be careful. There are spiders and...”

“Bloody ravens,”

“How did you know?”

“It seems there was much I needed to learn before I found you. We can speak of it once we are on our way. We must hurry. I do not know how long I have been here. Oberyn and Leo have already left with a party for Tower on the fourth day you remained asleep. We must go now!”

Elia nodded. She stepped away with a quaking breath. He saw her take a deep breath before she straightened her shoulders. At that moment she went from Ellie to Princess Elia.

“Do you know how to leave this place?” She asked in a quiet voice.

Manfrey took a clearer look of their surroundings. They stood on a cliff. Once again shrouded in heavy mist. He walked carefully to the precipice. Through the vapor, he could make out the water below. The distance between them and the water was significant. It seemed as though Elia had noticed as well, for he felt her reach for his hand. They both turned to each other and with a nod, they turned and walked back quite a distance. 

Sharing one last look, Manfrey ran as Elia held his hand, and together they jumped off the bluff and fell into the depths of the water. They lost each other during the fall. Now the water was dark and murky, but Manfrey did not breath—no, not until he had Elia. He swam and swam until he saw a body moving towards him. Relief found him when he recognized it was her. Just as their hands touched, Manfrey took his breath and with that action, he found them once again in the pool. 

They both broke through the surface. Turning to each other as they laughed. To the sane, no one would laugh at this, but perhaps a bit of give was needed in order to retain the sanity that still remained between them. They swam to the steps of the pool and pulled themselves out. Both helping each other until they stood of unyielding terra firma.

Elia pulled him into her arms. They took this one moment in reality to connect. He could feel her turn her head to whisper in his ear.

“Thank you—my love.”

Manfrey stilled in her arms, as she pulled away from him. Her eyes gleamed. Her smile was bright. Had she heard him? He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to ask her. Unable to stop himself, his smile spread across his face, as he rested his crown against hers. 

“Every time, Ellie.”

A bird’s _kraa_ breaks the moment and reminds him—them, that their enemies are closer than they realize and that time is no longer on their side. 

Pulling away they ran back to their separate chambers. 

In quick time, Manfrey changed and ran to Elia’s rooms. He was pleased to find her dressed to ride deep into the mountains. 

As they ran towards the stables, Manfrey noticed Ashara was still dressed in the same shift he had seen her in before going into the pool. 

“We haven’t lost the day. We may be only hours behind Oberyn.”

“Elia!” Ashara called.

Turning away from Manfrey, she ran to her friend. He could not hear what they said, but their bodies spoke of plenty. Elia returned and together they continued to his horse. 

“Ashara said Doran just sent word. The King sent another raven. He has declared war on the Starks and the Baratheons. He is assembling an army and demanding men. Aerys has applauded the loyalty of the Tyrells and challenges others to rise to such devotion. It seems since we last saw the Tyrells, Lord Mace has committed himself to his King.”

“Those who are here have already sent word to their Houses to organize and remain vigilant. This news changes nothing Elia. We are all as prepared as one can be. Even with The Reach and the Crownlands, the King does not have enough to win a war.”

“And sometimes the larger force does not matter. We have always been smaller than the other kingdoms, but we were never conquered. Let us not forget our past. Numbers do not always matter...it’s how they are used.”

“You are right, but do not forget Aerys—these Targaryens are not of Dorne. They may have drops of our blood in them, but they are not Dorne. That part of them, if it ever existed, has long been forgotten. They do not think or fight like the Dornish. They are Valyrian and Westerosi—much in a way we will never be. They will slavishly work to increase their numbers. They will announce themselves at our door, much like they did when they had dragons because that is what they do. And in turn, we will have already countered before the first arrow is thrown.” 

Manfrey heaved his words at her. Not angered by Elia but not cowered by the King’s latest missive either.

Elia eyes tracked his features. He wasn’t sure what she had seen that had made her smile. 

“What?” Confused by her behavior, Manfrey took a step back. 

“I daresay Meria Nymeros Martell would be proud. Nymor, you are not.”

Manfrey took her words as a point of pride.

“Meria that is an honor too high. A passable Deria after her father’s death and Aenys I succession.” 

They both laughed as they continued on their way.

When he had arrived, the Dornishman had not bothered to have the stableboy remove the items put on his stallion for the assumed long journey he was supposed to take that morning. His intent was on getting to Elia. Now he finds the steed still packed, with the items he would need for a long journey. 

Climbing onto his massive horse, Manfrey extending his arm towards Elia to pull her up. She reached for his hand, found her footing as she lifted herself to sit behind him. Once again he rode out of a gate as though a harbinger of death hounded him, but this time Manfrey had Elia with him. 

“To the Tower, Manfrey.” Elia’s voice competed against the wind that brushed by him. Her body molded against his as they rode in tandem.

He nodded.

“Yes, to the Tower indeed.”

Praying that the gods—all the gods who still cared blessed them with arriving before Oberyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I need your help friendly readers. I am at the Tower (in my writing...lol). What are some things you would like to read happen? What are things you'd like specific characters to say? I find myself at an impasse so I am looking to you for some inspiration. Also, lostchildofthenewworld suggested music to get me in the mood. Do you have a song that just screams out the emotional people would be feeling once they arrive at the Tower. 
> 
> I also feel like I should warn you that this story is pretty close to done. Once we get to the pinnacle of the story (which let's be real is the showdown at the Tower), the last chapter reads like an epilogue of sorts. So while I might not have gotten to the tower in this chapter, the story is almost finished. 
> 
>   
> **The Crab King**
> 
>   
> **The Cliff...I don't think I could have jumped off of this.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Elia dreams of the Tower.

The Dornish Princess stands outside the Tower. She watches as Lyanna walks down the spiral stone staircase. The woman-child pauses before a door. Walking, Elia softly makes her way to stand behind her. They are of the same height, Elia noted but doubted that would remain. The girl was still growing, and most likely, she will be tall if her brothers were any indication.

Elia looked into the room to see Lara standing over a pot. The young woman gently stirring the contents within. Lyanna release a huff of breath that startles Elia. The girl pulls her shoulders back and proceeds to enter the chamber.

"Good eve, Lara."

"Hello Lya," The woman voice held a pause.

The girl's face formed a deprecating smile.

"I didn't expect to see you again. I thought you and your—husband—retired for the day."

"Uhm, well we have...had, uhm, I've just come down to get my husband some more wine."

Elia noticed the large carafe and found her surprised it was empty as Rhaegar had never truly been prone to overdrinking in all the years she knew him.

"I see." Lara's voice felt guarded. Her words...deliberate.

Lyanna moved to fill the decanter. She moved as though to leave but stalled before stepping over the threshold.

"Lara,"

"Yes, Lya?" Lara turns.

"I was wondering about those herbs, lotions, and tea you've made for my husband and me."

"What about them?

Elia noticed the girl seemed unsure. Such a sharp contrast from the hubris female Elia had encountered before. Lyanna bit her lip as her gaze darted everywhere except on her companion.

"I feel like what I will mention is inappropriate, but I am unsure of things, and there is no other woman here whom I could ask."

"Please, continue." Lara gestured for Lyanna to continue as she moved closer to the girl.

"My husband is different."

"Different?"

"I found his attentions towards me—those in a marital sense, have been decreasing. In light of Ser Oswell's discovery—"

"Of the river—"

"Yes, of the river. I find like his mind has entered a heightened state. He is distracted, short-tempered. He speaks to himself at times as though he is helping himself sort his thoughts. His drinking has increased to a state that worries me, and he is angry—but not at me, not really. I hate to admit that I can't really tell what angers him. He's curt when I seek his attention, but then there are other times he is still kind and loving.

"Well, all new relationships have an adjustment period, or so I've been told."

The Northerner deflated further before her eyes.

"I feel as though he has learned poor habits before our marriage that I must undo. This is all I can think of. I have only known him to find my character restorative for him. It's just when he is loving, he doesn't seem to have the desire to engage in acts of love. Not like he fervently had before."

"I see. Well, I am not sure what advice I can offer. Has he hurt you?"

The young woman scoffed before replying—a lopsided smile spreading across her face.

"No. Not my person. I must say I'd like to see him try, but in sincerity, it's just my pride, I suppose. At first, he had prolonged our marital relations during our courtship. Even after we married, I could sense some hesitation. I know he had some _ghost_ that followed him, but we were able to overcome that."

Lyanna's voice trailed. A sadness hovered over her expression. While Elia noted it, such feelings did not move her.

"Hmmm...a testament to your union, I am sure." Elia watched the other Dornish woman as she pursed her lips as though she bit into the sourest of lemon

"I was wondering if you knew of any other herbs or teas that could assist my husband in increasing his amorous desires."

Elia watches to see Lara's reaction. The woman has none.

"I might have just the thing."

Rising to the stove, the young woman placed some water into a pot. As the water boiled, she put a small dollop of paste into a bowl. Reaching over, she ladled out water into the paste, mixing until the water turned into the red berry paste color.

"This might help to relax your husband a bit."

Lara reached out for the decanter. She poured some of the watered paste into the wine, gently swirling the liquid to combine it.

"Here you go, my dear. He should drink this while you consume your tea."

Lara poured the rest of the boiled water into a cup with herbs.

"I am sure if you initiate your desires, your husband will be too calm to deny you."

The Stark sent Lara a thankful smile, and Elia found herself shaking her head in dismay. These scenes no longer hurt her like they once did. Now all she feels is a certain level of disconnection with it all. 

"Thank you, Lara, for your ear and your help. Good night."

Elia followed the girl as she climbed the stair to enter her chambers. Lyanna did as Lara had suggested. She offered Rhaegar the wine. What Lara couldn't have expected was Rhaegar pacing the room as he quietly rambled to himself about the river as a sign.

The Dornish Princess had never seen her husband looked disheveled. His hair in disarray. Most likely from the constant running of his fingers through his long hair. Wearing nothing, put his pants—chest and feet, bare—the indigo eyes that captivated her so, glazed and muddled.

It hadn't taken long since Rhaegar consumed his drink that he sat on the bed beside Lyanna. The girl placed her cup onto the table beside their bed after taking several sips of her own. Crawling to kneel next to Rhaegar, Lyanna embraced him from behind. She proceeded to place kisses on her husband's ear, neck, and shoulder.

Rhaegar raised his shoulder, pushing his newest bride away before he returned to his pacing.

"Rhaegar!"

The man halted in mid-step. His breath was audible. His annoyance blazing in his indigo-colored eyes as he pursed his lips before speaking.

"Yes, Lyanna."

Running to stand before the Prince, Lyanna stomped her foot as her slowly rising voice vibrated with her unhappiness.

"What is wrong now? You have done nothing but talk about the bloody river for almost a fortnight now. While I understand that such an event is remarkable, it does not explain your absence."

"The creation of a river is only a remarkable event. Gods, Woman! Only one blessed by the Gods could herald such a thing."

Rhaegar was not one to truly get mad with another. His anger was always reserved for his father. Lyanna thought him angered. Elia smiled as she shook her head. No sweet child, Rhaegar is only annoyed. He swats at you like a horse's tail flicks at the flies that buzz about its rear. But then Elia could see how the girl thought him upset. Any tone that did not rate as besotted on topics that did not overshadow her power to sway could be considered angered, she supposed.

"That is not true. In Winterfell, my father sent men to help to make another path for a river so that people could get access to grain and harvested foods faster. It can be done with hard work done by normal men."

Rhaegar lashed out as he stood over Lyanna. Impressed at his range, Elia took a step back—perhaps he was angered. If she were honest with herself, Elia would have left Rhaegar to his thoughts long ago with a reminder for him to find her when he was ready. He always had come to her in time, whether to talk, listen, or just be. His warm eyes and wide smile would return, and he'd bestow it on her and Rhaenys. In the end, her approach clearly differed from Lyanna still didn't work.

"Did you see that river, Lya? Did it look like a group of men ushered such a thing in the moons that we have been here? Did you, by chance, see work underway when we rode by?

The girl yelled out to suggest that seemed improbable, let alone impossible.

Rhaegar yelled back an argument to shoot down every possibility.

Back and forth they went until Elia thought they were on the precipice of an explosion. The young woman reached for Rhaegar and attempted to draw him down for what Elia assumed would have been a passionate kiss.

Assumed because Rhaegar pushed her away.

"What is wrong with you? Can you not control your passions? Does this moment look like the opportune time for relations?"

Lyanna screamed as she looked about the room. Reaching for a dagger, she threw it at Rhaegar's head. The man moved quickly, leaving the blade to embed itself into the wall tapestry.

"Have you gone mad?"

"Yes! I carry the fury of all the Gods of which you speak of. You can thank yourself for that."

"One does not immediately think to resolve their anger or disagreement with violence, Wife. Have you no self-restraint? Never in the years of my marriage to Elia has she ever taken such liberties with my person—with any person in such a way. Perhaps it best you foll--"

Pushing with much of her might, Lyanna shoved at Rhaegar.

"Don't you dare bring her into this discourse! We both know she is not perfect for you have told me so...you have shown me so. Are we not wed? Am I not the wife you chose?"

Rhaegar gripped the young woman's arms tightly.

"Lya, I told you I do not plan to set Elia aside. The realm..."

"I know. The realm will fight against our union, but if she supports it, then so will the Faith. But let there be no mistake that she is your Visenya, and I am your Rhaenys. I will not be ignored by you husband; it is best you remember that."

Rhaegar returned to the bed. He looked inside the decanter and raised it to his lips. The last of the wine was gone.

Lyanna behind him.

Rhaegar didn't not resist her. He drew one hand up to grip her head holding her close to his neck as she continued with her ministrations. Elia walked up to them. She leaned over, bringing her face in to look into Rhaegar's eyes. The soft moans from the lovers before her floating on the wind.

Elia's husband's gaze seemed—lost.

Where was the quietly confident man she had fallen in love with? A man so acutely tied to seriousness with bouts of melancholy. He never stayed long in those feelings. Elia always thought him stronger than that. How mistaken she was?

The man before her closed his eyes, and his _Lady Love_ continued until he released a rattled sigh—a sign he had fallen asleep.

Lyanna pulled away with a shout of dismay. She pushed Rhaegar away. The man slumping onto the bed.

The woman-child released a scream that shook the stable Tower from its foundation.

Elia was thankful they could not hear her, for she does not think Lyanna would have appreciated the release of laughter she found at their expense. She still marveled that Rhaegar had forsaken them for...this. 

Leaving the disaster before her, Elia returned to Lara. She found herself surprised to see Sers Arthur and Oswell seated at the small table in the kitchen. All three of them looked up as Lyanna's frustrated shriek echoed in the room.

"Hmmm...I doubt they will be in need of you."

Lara told them Kingsguard.

"The girl—the woman is more than capable with a sword. Do not be fooled by her stature, but I do agree this may be a marital discussion that does not require our attention." Arthur surmised.

Oswell took a long pull of his drink.

"I know you have confirmed my sighting, but I still find it hard to believe that a river just appeared where one had never been reported before. We rode through the path Arthur, and there was no river. No sign that such ever existed. What we did see—what anyone would have ever seen was the Prince's Pass. Not a bloody river."

"What do you think it means?"

"I do not know, Oswell. I cannot foresee this as a good sign, but alas, it is not for us to follow signs. We follow our Prince."

"What if he was wrong? Did the gods do this? Are they mad? Is this part of their purpose?"

"You ask questions I am unable to answer, but know I share the same sentiment, Brother."

"I do not know what you men are on about, but I will admit the rise of a river is disconcerting. Since the earth tremors, you notice how the sky seems to darken more and more during the day. The air is chilled, and the wind is circling around us."

Elia noticed Arthur's nod at Lara's notice.

"Yes, it looks like rain will come. Why is that a concern?" Oswell remarked.

Arthur and Lara's gazes connected. A silent conversation that only those familiar with Dorne would have about being out in the desert.

Arthur sighed.

"It's not a good sign. We sit in a valley of sorts. We are in what essentially amounts to a riverbed that contains water only when heavy rains occur. In Dorne, such a place is called a wadi."

"Are we safe enough here?"

"Who knows?" Lara rubbed her hands before blowing into them. Clearly, the morning's chill with a lack of sun made the evenings colder than usual.

"It hasn't rained here recently. Not that I can remember." Arthur offered Lara the blanket that rested on the chair beside him.

"My father once spoke about the rains. He told me that the rivers could overflow. I don't know where the waters pooled here when it rains."

"My concern is that now water may pool where we are and with a river so close, should it overflow, then we might be sitting right in the middle of a tragic situation."

Lara released a quiet bark of laughter before apologizing. The men stared at her as though she were a peculiar sort.

"We should go and leave this place. Let us find higher ground." Arthur suggested to those at the table.

Oswell hiked a brow at his fellow knight.

"Do you want to tell him that?"

Silence descended on the audience before her. Elia noticed Lara watching the men with much subtly as the knights appeared dispirited as they filled their cups once again.

Elia awakens on a raft. She and Manfrey are sailing on the Greenblood.

After they left the Water Gardens, Manfrey had ridden towards Lemonwood--a distant cousin's House on his mother's side. Always quick on his feet, Manfrey suggested using the river to help them make gains on Oberyn's party. Elia saw the wisdom in his words. Leaving the horse behind, they found themselves sailing quickly up the river. At that rate, they made it to Godgrace days earlier than one would expect.

Elia was grateful that Lady Delonne Allyron was a close distant relative of her father. It made her consider how all the House of Dorne were interconnected in some way. When they had unexpectedly arrived, Lady Delonne was surprised, but she had welcomed them.

Even though they arrived in the late afternoon, they accepted a night of rest courtesy of the Lady Allyron. Still, they made it clear that they could not stay long and that they must leave for the Prince's Pass in the early morning. The Lady's eyes were full of questions, but she held them behind a sharp smile. Elia knew Doran had informed the head of the Dornish Houses that Dorne would stand down in the face of King Aerys's summonses from Kings Landing.

As they sat for an evening meal, Elia had asked if the Allyron's had seen Oberyn and his party.

"No. I imagine if Oberyn had come this way, he could have announced himself like you have—even if it were just for a night. He could have come here to restore his provisions before heading out there."

Elia had to agree with Lady Delonne. The woman continued.

"However, if he is going to the Tower, then he could have ridden closer to The Tor. I have a barge that could take you up the Scourge. It is large enough for you to travel with a horse should you require it."

Elia could feel Manfrey reach for her hand under the table—she remembered the gentle but calloused feel of his skin as he sent her a reassuring grip. They accepted Allyron's assistance.

As Elia walked towards the floating barge, Lady Delonne pressed a departing kiss on Elia's cheek. The older woman whispered in her ear.

“May you always remain _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_ , my Princess.”

Elia pulled back as a small smile tugged at her lips.

"And I will trust that _No Foe May Pass_ ," my Lady.

The women shared a smile as the Head of House Allyron nodded in agreement.

This is how she found herself drifting on the water to the edges of The Scourge. Turning her head, she sees Manfrey asleep.

Elia carefully moves a determined lock of hair, insisting on curling over his brown. He remains calm, still, and just as significant to her as he had always been. As she stared down, Elia tried to remember his features, so when the time came for them to the part, she would remember him with the clarity their shared past deserved.

What she really wants is to press her lips to his—to take a kiss, but she knows that deep in her core, she is not ready for such a step. Elia spent so many years putting her feelings for this man into a box. It was a chest that was heavily guarded. It had to be so for there could never be any questions about the paternity of her children. Elia knew if anyone desired to watch her in Manfrey's presence, they would detect what she was sure he already knew. Elia didn't know how NOT to love Manfrey, but she had learned how to hide it. She made room for love to grow for Rhaegar because she thought it cruel that he should be deprived of it when it seemed he was putting his best efforts forward in their union.

While her love for Rhaegar has died and her passion for Manfrey lives, Elia is still in the throes of mourning what never surely was with Rhaegar. There are times when she is reminded of his betrayal, and Elia is brought low. In the end, she is still not free to follow her heart. The gift they have been given by Mother Rhoyne—to stop the death of Elia and her children to save the 10,000 and perhaps the realm from war means that Elia is both player and pawn in the great game. Therefore, an attachment for them may not be a play she can safely make. That thought pains Elia.

"Have you taken up drawing, Princess?"

Elia head tilts away in confusion. Manfrey still keeps his eyes closed.

"I just figured you had since I can feel you watching me with the utmost intent as though you are inventorying every handsome detail of my expression."

The man smirked as he quirked a brow, but still, his eyes remained closed.

Releasing a laugh, Elia smacked at his arm.

"Your ego is almost as bad as Oberyn."

Dark eyes opened as they gazed back at her.

All Elia could see was how much they shined when he looked at her. She found her breath depart without her permission. Yes, she thought, this was a good thing to remember.

The next day saw the end of their water journey. They ride hard for days, and nary is another person on the roads beside them. As they passed the outskirts of the Yronwood, Elia wonders if there is a way to repair relations with that House without sacrificing Doran and Mellario's marriage by sending her nephew Quentyn to foster.

In their pursuit of the Tower, Elia noted the sky is full of clouds as if rain were to fall at any moment. The air is chilled—much like it was in her vision. They were close, she thought.

They pass Skyreach with Kingsgrave in their sights-- _Death Comes to All_ are their House words, and Elia wondered if she was riding towards a warning or a promise.

When they arrived at Kingsgrave, the sun had just slipped under the horizon.

"We have been expecting you, Princess Elia."

Lord Dagos Manwoody met them formally in his courtyard. Elia turned to Manfrey in wonder, sending him a silent question. How did Lord Dagos know?

_“Oberyn”_ , he mouthed.

Elia nodded in agreement. Perhaps her brother was still here. She felt excitement and relief being to bloom and spread.

"Lord Manwoody, it is a pleasure. Thank you for the gracious welcome to your home. I trust my brother Oberyn told you of my upcoming arrival. Is he by chance still here?"

Elia tried to discreetly spy for her brother or Leo. What she noticed instead was the man's look of confusion.

"Princess Elia, I am afraid I do not understand. I have not received any communications from Prince Oberyn. All my correspondence has been directly with Prince Doran himself."

"Doran?"

"Yes. He has tasked my House with monitoring the comings and goings of a particular tower. I received a raven days ago to expect your visit. My brother and our men will escort you and Ser Manfrey to the Tower.

Elia had forgotten that Manfrey had received his knighthood. She had never considered it before because he was always resolutely good and honorable at his core. Turning to speak to the man who bore a striking resemblance to the Lord of Kingsgrave, Elia sent the man a grateful smile. 

"Ser Myles, we are grateful for the aide."

"We serve at your pleasure, my Princess."

Elia turned to Manfrey. They had planned to leave at dawn. Trusting these men were truly prepared and ready to depart with them, Elia shared their intent.

"Ser Manfrey and I had planned to leave at first light. Is that enough time for you to prepare your men?"

"We will be ready to ride, my Princess."

Ready they were with 30 men on horseback, complete with banners raised. Elia climbed atop of her horse and watched as Manfrey trotted by him...his horse stopping beside her.

"Princess, we await your command."

Elia looked about. All the men were looking towards her. Indecision about every choice she had made since arriving in Dorne ran across her mind. A leader of men she had never been called before. Still, as she surveyed the faces staring back at her, Elia was reminded that she was the long-distant child of Nymeria. These men—the descendants of the people who once followed Nymeria freely. Feeling as though time once again was no longer in her favor, Elia decided to trust Mother Rhoyne to help her and their people just as the deity did centuries ago.

Nodding to Manfrey and Ser Myles, Elia rode out to the sound of horses following behind her.

They ride for most of the day to the Tower. The sky had been dark, but now the darkness was amplified as day turned to night—dusk was now on its way. They had perhaps an hour at best before sunset. Elia now could see the Tower in the near-distance as the sky that held the rain at bay began to lightly fall.

The effigy of her husband's betrayal of their marriage. The perverse tribute of Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna's insult of her people and her homeland—the Prince knows the depths of his offense. Still, the girl is not ignorant...she bears her own weight of the slight.

Was Elia and Rhaegar's marriage a love match? No. Did she fall in love? Yes. Did Rhaegar owe her love in return? No, though the romantic in her would have hoped for it considering she knew love with Manfrey, and she so desperately wanted to feel such a way again. Did he owe her the respect of honoring their vows? Oh yes, of that, he did. This was no longer about the fleeting feelings that come with love and want. This is was so much larger than that. A contract was made, and an oath was broken. Now she will collect her due from this grievous breach.

Out of the corner of her eyes, coming from the East, is a band of riders flying across the mountainous terrain. They are marked with the sigil of House Martell.

Oberyn was here.

Elia turns to see Manfrey beside her. He, too, has seen them. Calling out, they urge their mounts to go faster. The sound of Ser Myles Manwoody's sand steed, and those on similar Dornish mounts who followed him pounded at a pace that patterned itself after Elia and Manfrey's. The rainfall barely touching her. The rain in the air electrifying her to the bones...

Returning her gaze before her. Elia watched as people came out of the Tower. Her eyes are drawn to the tall pale-haired man--her husband, as he slowly walked down the stairs. She could only imagine what the sight must have been.

Two parties headed his way.

Orange banners with a red sun pierced by a golden spear led by Oberyn.

Could he see the Starks beyond the initial shock of recognizing her brother?

Did he notice Lord Baratheon?

She would guess the sight of murder in their eyes—quickly becoming noticeable in the rapidly closing distance.

If such a scene was not fearsome enough, there she was riding with a sea of armed men carrying black banners with skulls wearing golden crowns flowing behind her.

Rhaegar was a man who valued symbolism—Sunspear, Kingsgrave...

Now my love, who do you fear more? One who can pierce the sun or one who houses the royal dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The teasing has come to an end. It's time for me to jump off the cliff. Time to write the next chapter, The Tower.
> 
>   
> 


	24. Chapter 24 Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> I also threw in a quote by Lorraine Warren from Annabelle. It speaks to me.
> 
> **Pre-emptive TW: There is some text about Elia and the children's canon fate that might be slightly more detailed that people would be comfortable with. It's not grossly detailed by any means but is retold from Elia perspective. Just a heads up.**
> 
> There isn't much to say. I am just going to let the chips fall. This is part 1 of the Tower. There is a second that I will post today as well. 
> 
> I am bracing myself.

The Gods appeared to desire a bit of blood sport. That was the only way Elia could reconcile why Oberyn's party was so close to the Tower. As her horse galloped towards the stone building, she noted how Rhaegar seemed to be calling out. To whom she could only guess. 

In quick time, Sers Arthur and Oswell came from around the building-both raising their swords as they stood at the end of the stairs. As the distance between them closed, Elia wondered if she imagined the look of regret on Arthur's face. The man stood proud, but even the Dornish Princess could see he did not feel it. How the mighty will fall, Ser Arthur?

A young woman ran out of the upper chamber in only a shift. Her hair in disarray, eyes crazed. Lyanna Stark's head swiveled between Rhaegar's words and the riders coming towards the place she had thought a safe haven. For if she were, there would be little doubt that anyone looking for me would think to look in the homeland of my lover's wife. 

Who knew a serpent could be found in the frozen tundra of the North?

Elia knew she and her gang of riders needed a bit more time to reach the fray. As she rode, she called forth the water that soaked through below the sands. Mindful of the beast that rode, which heralded the sign of the House Martell, she pulled the water up, creating an explosion of sand rising from the ground and dissipating in midair. 

The action startled the horses, but expert riders these men were. None fell, but they did have to lower their pace, for they could not predict when another geyser of sand would rise. This ruse brought her and her companions enough time to get to their intended destination. 

Both parties surrounded the keep as their horses ran in circles. Only the people inside the barricade were, of course, the occupants of the Tower, Elia, Manfrey, Oberyn, and the Lords that traveled with him. Her eyes followed her brother as he jumped off his horse mid-stride with a spear at his back and his bullwhip affixed to his hip. 

"PRINCE OBERYN, WE COMMAND YOU TO STOP YOUR MOVEMENTS. DO NOT COME ANY FURTHER."

Ser Oswell yelled as that was the only way the man could be heard amidst the noise.

Oberyn did not stop. Elia did not need to see his eyes to know rage danced in them. 

"I know you think you mean well, Prince Oberyn, but we cannot let you harm the Prince."

Arthur's voice followed--strong and resigned. 

"Speak not to me, you swine." Oberyn spat.

"Prince Oberyn, heed my men. You do not know what you do." 

Rhaegar declared. His eyes imploring Oberyn to listen to reason. The gall of the man, she notes. Elia does not think Rhaegar has seen her, for his eyes are only on Oberyn.

"Oh, I know exactly what you have done."

Oberyn runs full tilt towards the knights with his staff with no further warning—spear side up. He uses the weapon to vault over the men. Elia's eyes rounded in surprise as her brother landed on the staircase, only steps away from her wayward husband. 

"Mothers, please show Oberyn restraint." 

Elia knew her brother, and she knew he wanted Rhaegar's death. 

Rhaegar's eyes widened—fear was clearly visible. 

Leo by now was off his own mount and charging at the Kingsguard as had Manfrey, the Dornishmen splitting the attention of Rhaegar's protectors. In the melee, Oberyn jumped off the spiral case and was now positioned in front of the stone steps. With a well-aimed flick of his wrist, he captured her husband's ankle in his whip. With nary a warning, Oberyn yanked on the handle pulling the Crowned Prince down to the ground. 

Elia watched as her brother's expression showed no emotion—a sign that his control was about to snap. A telltale sign from childhood. 

"OBERYN, PLEASE DON'T!"

Her voice blessed Mother Rhoyne; he had heard it, for when his fist rose with an intent to meet her husband's treacherous face, he paused. Chest heaving, muscles tense, her brother was primed for battle, but upon hearing her voice, he stopped.

Lyanna's voice calling out to Rhaegar ripped Elia's attention from the scene before her. The Princess's gaze swept across the Tower. More men had joined her family as they fought Arthur and Oswell. The young Stark girl now had a sword in her hand as she jumped from high above the stairs, the Starks made their way to their sister, and fury was etched in the face of Lord Baratheon. 

Summoning her strength for what was to come, Elia rode forward. In a loud commanding voice called out in Rhonyish and Westerosi for everyone to stop. It seemed that what Lord Brandon needed to distract his sister. All in attendance watched as the man carried his sister up the stair amidst her protest. 

Elia's heart hardened as she watched her faithless husband call out to the young woman as she was taken away. He screamed Lya and blubbered useless apologies. Then a thought crossed her mind. At that moment, she wondered if her husband had been saying Lia, or Lya. Who was he actually apologizing to?

"---I am so sorry."

By now, Sers Arther and Oswell had been disarmed. A young woman exited the doorway that Elia knew led to the kitchen. The Princess had waited a long time to meet the woman who helped her in ways she couldn't possibly imagine.

"Is there another chamber beside the kitchen?"

Elia called out.

"Sure is. You'll find a room in the back of the Tower. It shares a wall with this one. Your knights have been using it. There is also a small pantry, but there is no light."

"Hmmm...I imagine for now that will do as well. Leo take some men and see that Prince Rhaegar's protectors are placed there. Give them a torch and a bucket."

"Yes, my Princess."

Elia moved her horse slowly to her husband—a man now standing, while his long slender neck was held firmly in her brother's grasp. She found the blood on his face did not move her. Elia considered all she had experienced on her journey to his moment and how much of herself she had to deconstruct in order to survive. At this moment, all she felt was a stony passion that bordered on revulsion. 

Her body moved as if without consent as she dismounted. 

"Bring him." 

The Princess knew her command would be followed even if given to Princes. 

She made her way to the room; the Sand spoke of. The room was lit. Behind her, a stumble at the door caught her ear as her eyes stared at the wall in front of her. A small crack held her attention. It was not a mark of any note, but it felt like a lifeline when she heard the door shut. Elia knew the time indeed had come. 

In truth, she wasn't sure if she was prepared for this. 

What was there to say?

"Elia, please let me explain?"

Rhaegar begged, but Elia's eyes remained on the fissure on the wall.

"Elia—" his voice broke. She could hear a sliver of desperation as he choked out her name—a plea...a hope.

The woman she was did not rise to his imploration. Once upon a time, such a voice would have moved her to do all she could to bring him back to solid ground. A tone she now associates with his comportment after he had spent too much time in his solar with his tomes. If she knew then what she knows now, Elia would have burned each article in that room to the ground. 

"—give me a chance to explain. Once I do, you will understand my reasons, and in time, I know I can earn your forgiveness."

The arrogance. It's not the justification he has created for his actions that sicken her. Instead, it is the assurances he guaranteed to himself of her clemency towards him for the decisions he has made. Decisions that she had no input or hand in its design. 

Still, Elia could not turn away from the fracture before her. Perhaps all she needed a moment of reprieve to collect her thoughts, and this was the Gods gifts to her. Somehow Elia didn't think that true. She knew it wasn't, but still, she could not avert her gaze from the deepening line that traveled across the wall. That line, the crack, the fissure, the fracture that was all that kept her contained because the truth was Elia felt the need to rage.

Rhaegar's hand on her shoulder snapped her out of the mounting fear she had of losing control. With nary a thought of her actions, a rarity for her, Elia turned and swiftly slapped her open palm across his face. The sound of firm skin meeting that of a slacken flesh made for a sickening wet sound. 

The tall man stood before her with his face turned away from the force of the hit, a long thick tendril of hair hovered over his eyes, blood beginning to pool where her ring caught his lip.

"Do not presume that you have my leave to touch me."

Indigo eyes turned to her, and Elia could not mistake the cold heat that lit his Valyrian gaze.

"You are angry—"

"Do you think so? Whatever gave you such an idea, Rhaegar? Could it be because as your wife, your lawfully wedded wife and mother of your children, I find you ensconced in my homeland with your mistress?"

Anyone near the door could have heard her voice rise with each word. Her feet slid forward, forcing him to retrace his steps back. Elia wasn't sure if it was a small grace that told the man to keep his tongue behind his pretty teeth.

"Well! What say you? Just a moment ago, you were keen on speaking. Now do what you do best, your Grace—SPEAK!"

Her voice quaked with fury. Never one to enjoy games of fighting sport, Elia found the enjoyment most found beyond her understanding. However, as she stood before him, Elia began to reconcile pieces of her that desired to watch this man bleed. 

"Lyanna is my wife too."

"Pardon. Not since Aegon the Conquer can a Targaryen legitimately make such a claim. Those who dared it at least had the power of dragons at their disposal. You are not that man, nor do you have dragon's to follow your will. How do you—a Prince, think you command such authority?"

"I have a good reason for needing Lyanna. The dragon must have three heads, Elia. We have had two together. A daughter who is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen who must be Rhaenys soul incarnate and a son who bears all the markings of his namesake."

The stupid man took a step towards her, and Elia found her lip curling into a snarl. A low hiss fell from her lips, a gesture that made Rhaegar take heed by retracing his step.

"We need a third—a Visenya. Lyanna Stark can mother such a child. You have seen her. Is she a warrior to behold? I've told you about her acts of bravery at the Laughing Tree. I explained to you why I crowed her. I had hoped you would understand."

"Understand? I do not think I am the one confused by all of this. As I stand here today, only by the sheer Grace of my Gods, I know it is you that is confused."

"I know that you and Lyanna can come to terms, Elia. The realm needs—"

A scoff slipped past her lips.

"You needn't concern yourself with selling me Lady Lyanna charms any further. I am not interested in anything you would have to say. She and I will have words, rest assured, just as I am sure you and her brothers will as well."

She could see him in the flesh standing before her. With everything she had seen, Elia just didn't understand how does someone so intelligent could fall so easily into another's snare.

"Gods around us, Rhaegar, you have no idea what the realm needs, and yet you were born and trained to lead it—to be its King. It is an honor you do not deserve."

"Everything I do, I have done for the survival of this realm. You speak of things you do not know about, woman."

Rhaegar roared, his restrained dragon unleashed. In another place and another time, Elia surmises if she had ever seen him rage in such a way, she would have found herself fearful. Fear is not what rushes through her, no, not fear. It is a much darker emotion. Outrage. It was pure unadulterated outrage...

"I speak because I see. I see beyond the realm of men just as you _think_ you do, but I still live within the confines of this plane. Do you think your bannermen and the common folk will truly believe anything you have said? They will call you mad, just as they continue to call so many of your ancestors. The songs sung in halls, inns, and brothels of Targaryens drinking wildfire in an idiotic wish to becoming a dragon once more. The people of this realm want to live. They do not want war or famine. They want life. It is what we all want."

Heaving as she shouted at the man who she had the misfortune of marrying, Elia drew her hands to her face and rested her eyes against her palms. She pushed them in to quell the burn.

"Together with Lyanna, we can ensure that Elia."

Two warm hands held her shoulders. She released a strangled breath. Why did this man insist on thinking she was his to touch? 

Reflex caught her by surprise once again as she lifted her hands to either side of his face before closing her hands into a fist that she slammed into his ears. The result was Rhaegar released her in favor of holding his own hands to his pained head.

"You can ensure nothing of the sort. I can tell you what you _have_ done—what can be _ensured_?”

Elia began to pace the small room as restless energy rode her hard.

"Let see. Perhaps we should start with Brandon Stark's torture and temporary imprisonment of him and his men. That led to the death of one of those said men—Lord Arryn's heir. It was me who freed them, but I'll get into how in a moment."

Rhaegar's eyes widened, but he said nothing. 

"Then your father proceeded to send our ravens to all of the realm—sealing my humiliation of you firmly in the annals. While demanding Lord Stark come to claim his son. The father did, and your father burned him for it. Then he declared that Lord Brandon and his brother Eddard and your cousin Lord Robert be brought to him on a decree of death. Meanwhile, Lord Robert's sin was in being lawfully betrothed to the woman-child you abandoned me for."

The man she once thought a handsome beauty sat heavily on the bed nestled against a wall. 

"By the Gods no—"

A bark of laughter bubbled out of her, and it drew Rhaegar's stunned gaze.

"You have no true idea of how right you are about that. The Gods did say no, and that is the only reason I am here, I suppose."

Confusion etched on the pale face.

"Your father has all but declared war on his people. Any House could be gone and not because of a good cause but simply because he wishes it. You see to your father, his justifications superseded reason, and in his mind, it should not be challenged. Does that remind you of anyone you know?"

The averted gaze told her she had probably made a hit in this foolish man's armor. She knows all too well how hard he worked to be nothing like the man. As Elia considers the woman she is before him in this fight, there are flecks of her mother seeping through. Blood tells a story of who one is. Blood tells...

"Elia, Lyanna is my—"

"Wife, yes, I heard you though it is clear you did not hear me. I have spoken to the High Septon. I imagine you could picture the expression on his face when he saw that I was very much alive."

"I had never told him you were dead."

"Hmmm...no, I suppose you hadn't. You just let him think I had perished in childbirth. How could you put such a thing out into the world?"

The man closed his eyes as the muscles in his jaw trembled. A flush rose against his skin. 

Is that a sign of shame, Rhaegar? 

Elia would never know because she knew she would never ask.

"It may seem unforgivable now, but I beg you, Elia, to let me explain."

Once again, her eyes began to burn, and she knows they were starting to water. That was a sight she did not give him permission to witness, so she turned away. Once again, her eyes found the crack on the wall. Now it seems the lines had sprawled out, and small ravines began to show. The fractures darker than the rest of the stone—almost as if the fissures were wet.

_May seem unforgiveable now. May?”_

The mental anguish at the hands of his father. 

Serving as a hostage in his father. 

Enduring the cries of Rhaenys as she was pulled screaming from the place she thought safest in the world only to be stabbed repeatedly until she ceased to exist. 

Watching as her son was torn from her arms by a mad man who threw him against the wall like one swat at a fly. His blood dripping from the stonework with parts of his tender flesh left as a deposit. 

All to live long enough to allow that same man, who had the blood of her son on his hands, defile her in the most brutalizing way. 

Ending it all with a dagger to her heart. 

The anger and rage pulled its way forth as Elia thought of what could have been pushed past the reserves she had to contain it, and like the cracked wall before her, it too could not withstand the pressure. She no longer tried to control it, and with a deep breath, she let it go—and with that, so did the deluge of water that broke through the wall.

Rhaegar's screams at her to help him get the attention of her guards. The banging on the iron door did little to help him find the assistance she imagined he must have been praying for. 

Elia remained unmoved. 

Panic and fright clawed at Rhaegar's voice.

The water had risen so high, small objects floated around them. Rhaegar pulled her towards him and shook her.

"Elia, we need to find a way out. Make haste, woman, and help me. You men will not let us out without your order. Please, Elia."

She slowly rose her hands to his face, the man flinched, but then that did not surprise her. She had been deservingly unkind to him. Elia pulled him close until their eyes were leveled before she whispered to him just before the water consumed them.

"Oh, Rhaegar, you have no idea how unforgivable your actions are, but you will."

Confusion and dread flutter across his face. 

"By the way, Rhaegar, don't forget to breathe."

As soon as the water submerged them both, Elia showed Rhaegar all he had not known. They started with what would have been—the death of her and the children, the fate of him and Lyanna, the war. 

She let him sample the lives his siblings would have led, the death of his brother, and the power of his sister. The resurrection of dragons and the rise of the Targaryens—if only for a short while before his natural-born son stopped the ascension with a blade into the heart of his aunt and lover. 

The end of his House and hers are all done by his hand.

Then she pulled him to the river Rhonye where her new journey had started. He saw Elia watch his betrayal—each act in vivid color. The disclosure of how and why the Spider was working against him angered him. The revelation of Brynden Rivers' motivations and his deeds as Bloodraven towards many of the Targaryen males—Rhaegar, in particular, was most illuminating. This newfound awareness left the Crown Prince of the realm vomiting as tears pushed their way forth. 

Elia let him see it all, and when it was done, she opened her eyes to find them in the room, alone, without a drop of water to be found. Rhaegar's shaky breath returned him to this plane not long after. 

"My Gods, what have I done?"

"I suppose simple put...you played God, Rhaegar."

"After all, I have witnessed. Can you tell me that you are not doing this same?"

Elia turned away from him because though he is wrong for so many things, he is not exactly wrong now. She was playing god—or preferably, she was using the Gods to help her play the game. In the end, it all comes at a cost, does it not, and that she thinks that is what Rhaegar is saying. The Princess considered his words before sharing her own measured ones. 

"The threat of evil is ever-present. We can contain it as long as we stay vigilant, but it can never truly be destroyed, Rhaegar. We may both be aware of such dangers, but I do not plan with phantoms I do not know."

Raising a gentle hand to his face, she turned it to once again look directly at hers.

"That is the difference between you and me. I have plans—alliances you have seen."

Elia's eye caught the man's through work to contain his emotions--his words. Whatever it was he kept it to himself, but then that is what her husband always did. This was who he was. 

"Oh, Rhaegar, you will never know how much I loved you. Everything I did and everything I was whittled down to being what you needed in a wife, what your heirs would need in a mother, and what the realm would have needed in a queen. Not once did I ever ask myself what I wanted. Never did I ask you for what I needed. It was never a thought in my mind because the love I had for you would not entertain such thoughts."

The Dornish woman felt her eyes water, and she silently deliberated if her tears were in response to the liquid that seemed to cloud his own.

"I gifted myself to you with genuine sincerity, and you took me—my affection, my respect, my love. It would have been less cruel if you had only tolerated my presence, your Grace. It would have devastated me less. Sadly, that is not what you did. In the end, I would have died, as would our children with the name of Lyanna Stark on your lips. You would have been no better, your Grace, than the beasts sent to kill us. Prettier, but no better. Now there is nothing between us but another marriage of convenience—an alliance of two Houses and nothing more." 

Releasing her own shaky breath, she stepped away. Still, she maintained contact with his eyes—eyes she once thought spoke of genuine love and affection. Mayhap they are still truths, his she thought—not hers.

"I will keep my brothers, the Starks, and Lord Robert from taking your head. Though I imagine you must meet their fists before the sunrises. You will leave Lyanna Stark alone. I have made costly restitution on your behalf, as you now know. If I were you, I would concern myself with what is to come. It takes a strong presence of mind to remove a King."

Elia knocked on the door—a sequence she knew her brother and cousins would know. The door opened immediately—the sight of Manfrey at the entrance a quiet blessing. Turning back to her husband, Elia decided she needed one last thing from him.

"Just remember all you have seen, and promise me now that the dreams of prophecies you have for our children ends here and now—never to be spoken of again."

"I promise."

His voice sounded so worn to her own ears. 

"Make sure this is an oath you intend to keep, your Grace, for I will not be so accommodating should you break your oath once again."

Not a sound left his lips, but Rhaegar tilted his head in acknowledgment. 

As she proceeded to walk out the door, Elia noted how black Manfrey's eyes turned as they stared at her husband, his face passive—but those eyes burned with animosity. She placed her hand over his heart in a gentle effort to calm and move him from blocking her egress. It wasn't until she turned to inform Rhaegar that his _protection_ will safely be returned to him that she noticed the odd look in his eyes as he stared at her cousin. A glare that burned with loathing.

Men, she thought, as she walked away to share some choice words with the knights of the Kingsguard.

*****

A look of frustrated indecision had shown on Lyanna Stark's face when she heard Rhaegar and his Kingsguard shouting for her to return to the bedchamber and seal the door. She saw her brothers were here, and they were angry—as was the Stag Lord. If she could just stop Brandon and Ned from their march towards Rhaegar, then she could get them to cease this demonstration. They would understand that she and Rhaegar were wed and nothing here was improper. They might be mad, Baratheon in particular, but they would stop this.

Thinking quickly, Lyanna ran up the few steps that separated her from the chamber where she would retrieve her sword. Stumbling a bit over the length of her shift, Lyanna grabbed her blade and ran down the stairs. She jumped off the side of the steps, a bit of a drop down, but it was the fastest way to get between her brothers and her husband. 

Lya just had to save him. The love of her life.

Landing on her feet, Lya ran towards her brothers with her steel raised in defense. It hurt her to do so. To see the waves of emotions across their faces—determination, surprise, confusion, confusion...disillusionment. 

Knowing the Kingsguard was protecting Rhaegar, out of the corner of her eyes, Lya had seen the men closing in from the other side. She stayed focused on stopping and save her brothers. 

"Brandon, Ned, STOP!" 

The Northerner shouted in hopes her siblings could hear her through the rage that blazed in their eyes. She screamed, for this was the only way to get them to listen to her.

"PLEASE, YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. STOP THIS. HELP ME...PLEASE!"

The clashing of swords behind her told Lya that a battle had begun. In another attempt to get her brothers to hear her, she began to call out to them again. Still, the lone voice of a woman rose above the fighting, speaking in a tongue she had never heard before.

"Awqaf hdha." [1]

The men wearing Dornish sigils stopped charging, stopped fighting.

"Cease!"

Everyone had. They stopped. 

Not sure what has happened or what will happen next, Lya kept her eyes on her brothers as they dismounted their stallions and began walking towards them. They appeared angry. Her eyes darted to Robert on his mount, who stared at her with such distaste and dare she say it---hurt. 

Just as she was about to tell her brothers to stay where they stood, Rhaegar's voice had frozen her from the inside out. One word, one name... 

"Elia"

Lya swung her gaze away from her siblings to find the woman in question. Dressed like a desert warrior or like a Dornish djinn [2]—an evil spirit from the desert. Such a creature reminded her of the old stories Old Nan would tell her of these si'lats [3].

Turning her gaze toward her husband, Lyanna saw his shock and...pleasure of seeing Elia. 

It felt like a slap. Knowing he loved Lya but cared enough about Elia not to set her aside could not have prepared her for witnessing his joy at seeing the Dornish Princess. The expression on his face, blood dripping from his beautiful head where he landed from his fall, and the wonder in his voice when he said her name stole the breath out of Lyanna.

That loss of breath took away her strength to continue holding her sword in an upright position. It had distracted her, and her brother Brandon took advantage of it. With no warning, he cuffed her on the side of her head, causing her to feel lightheaded as he tore the weapon out of her hand and tossed her beloved sword to Ned. Before Lya could catch her bearings, Brandon flung her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs. 

All she saw below her was Rhaegar calling for her. Words of apology echoed in the night air. Ned now blocked the man as he followed behind her and Brandon. 

Her Ned...he ignored her pleas for help as they made their ascent. Then she saw his face, truly saw his face; all she could see was how tired he looked as if he carried all the weight of the world. This man before was not just the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell. As she met his gaze, Ned's gray eyes, which were once so much like her own were—cold and frozen before her.

Lyanna shut her eyes, for she knew that nothing would be the same again once she opened them. 

The slam of the door and the pain of being dumped on the hard stone floor caused Lya to open her eyes.

Brandon's gaze swept the room, and Ned shut his own eyes. Lya knew what they saw. A marriage bed. She was most definitely sure this was not a state her brothers would have every wish to witness. Still, they came into her home—temporary though it is, and into her bedchamber. What had they expected? A room like the one she had when she was a maiden. Gods, she is a woman grown and wedded.

"It's all true, Ned. I know I had seen it, but it all came from her. There was a piece I held apart, a fragment that held on to my truth of who you were, Lyanna, and in the end, I was wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong, and now there is no way to undo this."

Brandon, her larger-than-life brother's voice, broke as she spoke to the air. From her angle on the ground, she could make out his profile, and his expression provoked a look of horror on her own. Rising, Lyanna stood before her eldest brother. 

"There is nothing to undo, Brandon. If you would just listen to me, Rhaegar and I are married. I know this isn't ideal, but this is not the worst thing. Rhaegar will treat with Father. He thinks he can get the King to approve of the union. He just needs time."

Brandon looked at her and visibly flinched.

"Rhaegar will not treat with Father because the worst thing has already occurred."

Rage. That was the emotion that bubbled forth from Brandon. It boiled over as he lifted a chest from the edge of her bed and flung it at her. Nimble as she had been taught, Lya ducked out of the way before the piece shattered against the wall behind her.

Ned did not move. He made no attempts to help her.

"Brandon! Have you gone mad?"

"Me, have I gone mad? You are the one who ran away with a married man, and you have the gall to ask me if I am mad! Do you have any idea what our lives have been like since you left with that man?"

Lyanna felt her initial anger subside just a bit. They were afraid for her, and it has made her brother act rashly. That is something they share in common, and for that, she cannot remain too angry at him. Now that they can see she is safe, her brothers can calm their ire. 

"I know you worried. I am sorry for that. I am sure there were other ways Rhaegar and I could have come together without worrying you and Father. I am sorry I have worried you, but I am not sorry I married Rhaegar."

Instead of a calmer visage, icy rage swirled in Brandon's gaze. 

"Worried. I have had more to concern myself with than worry, Sister." His voice held such contempt, and Lyanna could not understand why.

"My worry fled a long time ago. You see, my worry took me to Kings Landing. It took me to demand Rhaegar's head for your dishonor."

"Bran, you can now see I was not dishonored."

"Stop speaking. Shut your mouth and listen for a change." 

Lya spun around to glare at Ned, leaning against the closed door, his arms crossed around his chest. The She-Wolf in her would not be silent, and she opened her mouth to say so.

"The King had his men beat and torture my men and me before being thrown into the Black Cells. News of our detainment made it to a certain party that helped us to escape, but in the end, Lord Arryn's heir did not survive."

Her words of anger died in her throat, and a gasp was released in exchange.

"Elbert"

"The King called for Father to come to answer for my actions. Actions I thought honorable at the time. He was warned not to go, but he did because he was—Father."

Cold tendrils of dread slowly began to wrap their arms around Lyanna's heart. 

"No," Her plea died in a whispered breath.

"Father died in a trial by combat. His opponent was better positioned to survive, being that it was wildfire." 

Brandon spat the word at her. His disgust evident unshielded. 

Lyanna folded into herself as a raw cry emerged from her lip. Her eyes saw nothing, for her tears hid the world from view. 

_Father. Papa_

"No, no, no, no, no—" She cried out, but her brothers had not stopped her litany. 

"Please spare us your despair, Lyanna. Our Father, our family, was nary a thought that ran through your mind when you ran away from your duty and into the arms of your married lover."

Ned, clearing his throat, followed his words.

"News we were able to receive told us he burned in his armor. It was hard to remove his chainmail from his flesh as the element began to melt into him. If we are fortunate enough, we might be able to retrieve his bones and take them home to Winterfell."

Lyanna collapsed to the ground. She pulled her knees to herself and rocked back and forth in an effort to shut her brothers away. This cannot be true. She needs it not to be, for if it is, then Lya's actions were at fault for her Father's grisly demise. 

While Brandon raged at her, and it now seems with good cause, Lya had to correct his thinking on her marital status. He may hate her now, but it would matter in the end.

"While you have been here, marinating in your _wedded bliss_ , time continued to move as it does. The King wrote to the realm, seeking not only my head but Ned's and Lord Robert—he only for the sheer poor luck to be betrothed to you. The man is calling his bannermen to raise war if we are not presented."

Her brother once again picked up a piece of furniture, a stool, and he flung it against the headboard of her bed. 

The young woman sat immobile. Tears falling down her face. Shocked at how terribly wrong everything had turned, it began to dawn on Lyanna for the first time that perhaps her husband would not be able to reason with his Father—not without losing his life. She knew Rhaegar wanted to avoid war, but after this, how could he. He had to help her avenge her Father's death. Wouldn't he?

"Our youngest brother, barely a man, holds Winterfell while we waste here looking for you. Wanting to save you and you, it seems, did not require it."

"I am so sorry."

Brandon kneeled before her and lifted her chin gently as he used to when she was but a girl who skinned her knee and needed comfort. 

"Oh, Lya, you couldn't begin to know the shades of meaning that word carries, but trust me when I tell you that you will learn it soon enough."

Lya's eyes widened. Her body heaving between tears and breath. 

"The whole of the realm now knows you and Rhaegar are with each other. The how was up for speculation, for I thought you taken. Still, Princess Elia will not accept any more of your humiliation. I will not protect you for it, for she was the one who saved me. It has been her House that has shielded Ned and me from the danger of the King. The realm will know of you willingly went with Rhaegar."

Shock punched clearly through her. Elia Martell had helped her family.

Perhaps Rhaegar was right, and Elia would understand and help to smooth the ire of the Faith. Once the woman learned of their marriage, she would accept the story as will the realm. Lya kept telling herself this in quiet, for the alternative was one she didn't want to consider. Rhaegar had assured her. He knows better how these things work. 

"But I am his wife now. The High Septon witnessed it himself. My marriage is good for our family. It is beneficial to the North."

Ned's bark of laughter caught her attention. She watched as Ned and Brandon shared a silent exchange that left both men shaking their heads. Lya could see dismay in both their gazes. 

"The High Septon came to Dorne. He told us about your ceremony."

"See, Brothers, all will be well. I promise."

"Foolish girl, he confessed he had thought Princess Elia had died birthing her child. It was the only reason he permitted marriage. The man now must worry himself with keeping his title and, more importantly, his life. The Faith would not take too kindly on his actions as he is to be the protector of the Faith itself. It is my understanding that announcements decrying such a rumor of the Crown Prince marrying another are ready to travel all across the realm."

"If that is true and Rhaegar knew this, he still married me. We married before the Old Gods."

"Do not bring in our own faith when you behaved so faithlessly before our Gods."

Ned's anger was brimming, for it could be heard in his voice. It chilled the room.

"You stood before them and swore a truth that was a lie, and we all know nothing good comes from such a deed. Do not compound your deceit any more than you must, for there is only so much of it I can bear."

"Our Father is dead, war is on the rise, a Lord Paramount lost his heir, and another is left with a broken betrothal, our word as a House will now be questioned, our honor tossed to the wayside with vultures waiting nearby to pick pieces of our pack. We are the most vulnerable we have ever been—as a House and as a kingdom."

Brandon kicked a chair over. He ran his fingers through his long hair. They stood in silence—in soul-crushing silence until Brandon began to howl. It called to the wolf that resided in the Starks they were. The sound was angered, pained, crazed, yet haunting. Taking a deep breath, her brother tilted his head, and a crack echoed in the room. 

He turned to look at Ned before landing on Lya once again.

"The Princess has made amends, as best she can for what her husband has done, but we—you have amends you must make for your actions. Make no mistake. You will follow through, Lya."

"I will apologize to Robert and Princess Elia, but I am sure by now that Rhaegar has helped her to understand that our marriage was ordained. It had to happen."

Ned's sigh cut her off. 

"Rhaegar and any ideas of what you are or what he can do must cease, Lya. The sooner to reach this disappointment, the sooner you can focus on the task before you."

"My task?"

"Yes, your task. You will speak to Princess Elia or Lord Baratheon only if they request it. You have done enough to bring shame to those parties as it is. Your marriage, regardless of what you'd like to think, is not binding. If your woman's blood comes, proof that the Prince's bastard seed did not take, then you will be wedded to Lord Jon Arryn."

Lya recoiled. Her brother couldn't have hit her harder with his hands. Those words punched a hole where her heart used to be. 

"I will not marry that man. Firstly, I am married."

Terror...that was all she could hear was her own voice in the throes of terror. She rose to her full height. He will have to kill her for she would not do as he said. She couldn't. 

"Secondly, I will not marry that man. He is older than Father. I will not do it."

Her breath trembled to find it hard to breathe.

"Lastly, you are my brother. You don't have..."

"I am your LORD!" Brandon screamed in her face as he loomed over her. 

"You will marry the man and do your best to replace the heir your actions stole from him. I am sure you see it as an inconvenience, but I think we can all agree Elbert's death was a senseless loss in light of the truth. You played a hand in his death. Now you can help fix it. Elbert, you may not be able to bring back to life, but you can help the name of Arryn's survive beyond one distant cousin."

Lya just shook her head no. Denial gripping all her senses. 

"Princess Elia has also demanded that you make recompenses for your part in her public humiliation. I must admit, up until this moment, a part of me wanted to protect you from this, but that is a difficulty I no longer feel. My choices are limited. You live your life in Dorne as their hostage—"

"Please don't leave me here, Brandon. Please!" 

Lyanna clutched her brother's hand, but the big man shook her off and pushed her away. 

"It's a lifetime in Dorne or marriage. I have made my choice—a kindness Princess Elia does not owe me as I am indebted to that woman for my life."

"Brandon, please..." Lya tried once again to get her brother to listen to her. 

Now, cold gray eyes looked at her. Did he even see her?

"I can't even look at you anymore, Lyanna, for when I do, all I see is what we've lost and how dreadfully we lost it. We will go home. I want you to look at Benjen and the people of Winterfell and the North with them knowing what you have done. I want you to return to our home, if only for a short time, and see the halls absent of our Father's presence. I want you to feel it. The death of what we once were. I want to see you take your vows with honor before the heart tree. But more importantly, I want you to see me, Ned, and Benjen—the Last of the Starks, as you ride away for the last time."

"Bran..."

"Lord Stark to you. Upon your marriage to Lord Arryn, Winterfell and the North will no longer welcome you, Lady Lyanna." 

The only sound to be heard was the sobbing from one Lyanna Stark, as her brothers left her to her desolation.

*****

The morning came so quickly, or perhaps Elia just could not find rest. How could she? How could one find enough peace to embrace slumber with the conversation between her and Rhaegar replayed itself at every moment?

Elia sat up. Ellaria's eyes were still closed, and her breath even. How Elia envied the ability to sleep so easily. Mindful of the other woman, the Dornish Princess grabbed a scarf from where she laid it on the table before she quietly opened the door.

Once she was outside, she noticed the tents, the horses, and the silence. Yes, silence. This is what Elia was craving. Looking up at the early morning sky, darkness was relinquishing its claim on the night sky welcoming the dawn. 

Moved as if by an unknown spirit, Elia walked toward the horizon before her. A few men on guard duty nodded in her direction as she passed them by. Finding enough distance between the Tower and the rising sun, Elia sat atop a dune. She ran her fingers over the sand. The grains below her seeming damp and chilled to the touch. 

Wanting...needing to find the beauty in this part of her homeland once again, in this place, Elia looked to where the sun was expected to rise. She prayed to any and all gods to help her reclaim this part that was not theirs to take. 

The slight disturbance of the sand beside her told her someone was nearby. Elia knew who it was, and when he sat beside her without a word. Hands clasped over his knees with eyes staring towards the horizon, she rested her head against his shoulder. Though she was hurting, she sighed into him and let Manfrey take that weight if just for a moment.

Together, they sat as the sun lit the sky with golden and peach hues. The first real sunrise they have seen since they began their journey here. The cloudy sky hid all the others. Turning her head, Elia rested her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes took in his profile. He was not a perfect man, but he was a good one, and he loved her still. 

When Manfrey turned towards her, she found her lips pull in a small smile upon seeing his grin. 

"You're staring at me again."

The words were said not in an expectation of a response, of that she knew. They were told to make her smile and only for that reason alone. Elia felt her heart warm if only just a bit. Her shoulders felt a little bit lighter, but she was smart enough to know what would change. Until then...

Elia rested her head on his shoulder once again as they let the warmth of the sun wash over them. 

Unsure of how long they sat there undisturbed, Elia suggested they return. Once they got closer to the Tower, Elia saw Lord Brandon sitting on the steps that led to his sister. A piece of bread in his hand that seemed untouched. She wondered if the big man found his appetite had disappeared. 

"I would offer a good morning, but I think we are familiar enough with each other to know there is no good to be had, Princess Elia."

Elia nodded in agreement. 

“How is it you Northerners say, _Aye_. At this moment, I feel that would be the appropriate response in such a moment." 

The big man snorted. 

"Aye, Princess, you would be correct."

Brandon looked up the steps before turning his gaze to Elia. 

"She is awake. Are you sure you wish to speak with her now? We have to travel with each other for a bit. Perhaps then would be best."

"Best for whom? Not for me. The realm knows what Rhaegar has done. His father's ravens have made that a surety, his own insanity notwithstanding. I have availed the Lords of the Great Houses of our circumstances to secure the assurance of my children's inheritance. I am shamed thousands of times over, and your sister played a part in that public humiliation. The last thing I want to do is confront your sister, but leaders must do that, which is frequently grim. No, Lord Stark, I'd rather be done with it now and spend the rest of my days limiting the amount of time I will ever have to see your sister, let alone speak to her."

The young man seemed to age so much since he arrived in Dorne, but here at the Tower, the man killed whatever remained of the boy he once was. 

Brandon stood and proceeded to walk down the few steps that separated them. 

"I have told the men at the door to let you in. My brother is in the room, but he knows to leave upon your entry."

As she walked past him, Elia patted the man's arm in the form of thanks and apology. 

Many would say she does not owe this man that. They would say he should have known better to confront Rhaegar before the King, but such a moment would not have occurred if her husband and Brandon's sister made different choices too. If Mother Rhoyne hadn't shown her his path, then the man would have died along with his father. Brandon is just another victim of Rhaegar and Lyanna's follies. He is also a man who will have to spend his reign in the North, defending his family's honor among his bannermen. The Northman did not deserve his fate any more than Elia had earned hers. 

Exhaustion cloaked Elia like a groom does a bride. All she could think at this moment was how much she did not want to climb the steps that would take her to the other woman who lived in her marriage to Rhaegar. A woman who should not exist. 

Most would probably think the girl should be brought to Elia, and perhaps if space and short-tempers were not an issue, she would agree. Unfortunately, the scene here is so volatile that the air is drenched with the stench of it. 

Rhaegar and his knights were currently under guard in the small room shared by the former Kingsguard. Those with cooler heads beside Elia—Manfrey, Leo, Eddard, Baelor, and Lord Arryn, thought it best if the targets of ire remained hidden until it was time to depart. 

The men who stood at her door were men who came from the Eyrie with Lord Arryn. They did not attempt to meet her eyes. Elia did not blame them. What would their eyes hold, she wondered? Would it be pity? Derision? Apathy? Perhaps it was the young woman inside who would be the one to see such gazes sear her flesh every time she passed them in the halls of her soon-to-be new home. 

It made no never mind now, Elia thought. The taller man rapped his knuckles on the door. 

Eddard Stark looked just as worn as his brother as he opened the door. An unspoken understanding was exchanged between them. The young man looked behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, Elia saw the young woman slowly rise from the bed. A girl, in truth, stood up quietly. The bed serving as a barrier between them. How fitting?

As Eddard moved aside to permit Elia to enter, the young woman spoke.

"Ned, what are you doing, Brother? I do not wish to speak to...her." Lyanna Stark's opinion started strong, but she could not maintain herself, and in the end, her voice broke. 

Elia stepped into the room. Her eyes taking in the inventory of damage made from the Stark's explosive reunion but, more importantly, the evidence of her husband's ultimate unfaithfulness and Elia's dishonor. All packaged appallingly in this small room. 

"Ned, where are you going? Please, Ned!" The She-Wolf's voice began to rise. Was that a touch of fear in her voice, Elia wondered. 

The man's jaw twitched. Aggravation in his gray eyes, Ned walked out of the room. The sound of the door's lock engaging provided the Quiet Wolf's response. 

The girl's eyes were wide when they settled-on Elia. 

Elia found an upright chair near the door. She approached it with repulse as she ascertained if it was _clean_ enough to sit on. This room held the stench of sex. The kind of scent is built when the act occurs often, and the doors and windows are consistently shut. Such a heavy concentration of that fragrance will always make its way into the bedding, the tapestry on the walls, as well as the fabric that adorns the furniture. 

Deeming it safe enough, the Princess carefully sat down. Elia crossed her legs, and with folded hands on her knee, she allowed her gaze to take in the woman-child before her. 

Lyanna Stark was willowy in form. She would be tall once she finally grew into her womanhood. Not a traditional beauty like Ashara or even Cersei Lannister, but she has loveliness that was caught between child and woman. It was her eyes that pulled at Elia. She could see how one could get lost in them—wide, defiant, and yet guileless. How must that open and inexperienced vulnerability have fed Rhaegar's ego? 

Such a stupid and selfish man. He destroyed this girl's reputation, and neither Rhaegar nor the girl realizes what their antics truly brought to this young woman. He may never understand, but the girl will learn soon enough. As a man and Prince, he will receive silent reprove except for her family and Elia's, but then there was so much the Stark's and Martell's could do and not lose their footing with the Crown. In the end, the realm will turn their vitriol on Lyanna—a young woman who had the poor fortune of crossing Rhaegar's path. 

Elia's gaze took in the red-rimmed eyes and nose, the braid that seemed to be unraveling, the handkerchief clutched in her hands. What are you thinking, girl? What are you feeling? Are you crying because you've learned of your father's fate and the plight of your brothers whose heads are demanded by a Mad King? Both finding you at the center of their hardship. 

Are those thoughts and feelings secondary? Is it the separation from Rhaegar that pains you? The creeping reality setting in that you and he might not continue together _as man and wife._ What moves your heart, girl? 

Elia so desperately wished she knew, for perhaps the knowledge would help her make sense of what stood before her. In the end, she needed to reconcile that she may never get an adequate answer from either Rhaegar or Lyanna. 

"Lady Lyanna Stark, it seems you and I might be destined to always meet under the most abysmal circumstances."

The girl offered a barely-there curtesy. Elia wondered by did she even bother. In Elia's opinion, eloping with another's husband shattered any expectation of polite civility—had it not. 

"Princess Elia,"

Silence. 

As Elia looked at Lyanna, the Stark girl was finding her confidence. It seemed as her eyes began to hold their gaze of Elia seated on the chair steadily. 

"I find myself wondering, Lady Lyanna, whatever possessed you to flee with my husband in the manner that you had."

Lyanna appeared to fidget just a bit under Elia's stare. Still, the young woman seemed to catch herself and made the movements stop. 

"I am sure all of this has come as a disappointment to you, Princess Elia, but Rhaegar loves me. He respects me—enough to challenge the realm to make me his wife."

"Ah, a disappointment..."

"Rest assure he does care for you and your children. He had made it very clear that he will honor his vows to you and not cast you aside. Though I imagine your discussion last night has wounded you, I hope you can one day see that this does not have to be so hard for you."

The Dornish woman didn't know what to do with her expression. Elia could feel her eyes widening in confusion and then in disbelief. Turning her gaze to the side of the room, Elia was sure the girl would take that as a sign of sadness and pain, but all Elia sought was a moment to collect her visage. 

The gall. The arrogance. 

The childishness of it all. 

But what was Elia to expect, before her stood a woman-child. 

"I think it is you who needs to consider that this does not have to be so hard for you. Look around you. Does it look like you are free to do as you please?"

"Rhaegar will..."

"Rhaegar will do nothing. He is in a prison of his own along with Sers Dayne and Whent. Do you know who holds the keys for both your door and his? If not, then let me clear the confusion for you--that would be me, make no mistake of that."

"You can't do this."

"Yes, Lyanna, I can. You genuinely do not think you have done anything wrong. I am confused as to why? Why my husband? Was it because he's the Crown Prince, or would any other husband have done?

"It is not like that. Rhaegar loves me. He said he fell in Harrenhal and landed firmly in love through our correspondence. I could imagine how you must feel, but I..."

"You couldn't possibly imagine, girl."

"I am not a girl! I am a woman-grown. I--"

"Oh, shut-up!" 

The girl recoiled as if Elia rose and slapped her clear across the face. A desire that the Princess had to admit was growing every time Lyanna Stark spoke. 

"What experience in your life gives you the foundation to have any idea of how I feel. Rhaegar was my husband. A man I committed to as was my duty, and I man I grew to love as was my choice. What I feel is not the kind of courtly love built on grand gestures of flowers and flowery letters. That type of affection is like smoke that scatters when the flame of a candle is put out. Fleeting, temporary, and of no real importance. Do not stand before me as though _your love was built on anything of note._ ”

"What I had was built on the daily work of building a home, a family, a life with someone. My purpose as his wife, who loved him, was to help him build a legacy. That is not simple work done with a few gestures and scented notes. That takes unveiling parts of yourself while reconstructing others in a way that makes sense to this new person you are becoming. If necessary, you kill parts of yourself if it is for the greater good. All that type of work is at the foundation of what I built with my husband. The destruction of that is like the Doom of Valyria. A fate nobody can come back from."

"I do not understand, Lyanna. You were to marry Lord Baratheon. A match many a young maid would weep in happiness for. Why turn him away? What could a married man offer you and your House that the Lord of Storm's End could not?"

Lyanna bit her lip hard, but Elia noted how the girl's jaw trembled. 

Why does it do so? Is it to hold back tears or words?

"I knew Robert to have a bastard in the Vale. A man such as that would not remain faithful to me. I was naught but a person to bear his children and keep his home. He would not have loved me, not the real me. I did not want that marriage."

"So, a man married with children sounded like a better match."

"No, but Rhaegar loved me. Me. As I was."

Elia felt a surge of anger at Lyanna Stark. It burned brightly deep in her soul.

"Hmmm...I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Lyanna, but a man will love a mistress or a whore too—just as she is, that does not mean he would marry her if he already had taken a wife."

The young woman came from around the bed. She still had enough of her faculties to keep her distance. 

"I am not a mistress or a whore. I am Rhaegar's true wife."

"What do you call a woman who is kept by a man she lays with and is not married to."

"I am a Lady, and we are married." Lyanna's breath was coming in rapid succession as her small chest heaved in outrage, Elia was sure. 

"Let's look back on our history, shall we? Not since Aegon the Conquer has there been a Targaryen with more than one wife at a time. Why? The people will not stand for it. The Faith will not stand for it. Correct me if I am wrong, but such marriages are not accepted by those who follow the Old Gods—other Targaryens, ones who sat as King tried and failed. Men with dragons and none of them found success. What made you think a Prince had such authority?"

Elia took a deep breath and was reminded of the smell in the room. All she wanted to do was leave, but she knew she and Lyanna were not through.

"High Septon Maynard had assured me that he was duped by Rhaegar when he was asked to bear witness to your supposed marriage rites. It is an error he has since corrected."

"No, he can't. Rhaegar is to be..."

"King? Well, that remains to be seen now, doesn't it? Like I just said, no other King accomplished this task before. You can look to Rhaegar and yourself for your current circumstances. Now back to our history lesson. Ladies who were once mistresses of a King—Lady Melissa Blackwood, The Bracken sisters, Falena Stokesworth and her daughter Lady Jayne Lothston, and Cassella Vaith. Now those were just the mistresses of Aegon IV."

Arching her back slightly to alleviate her own physical discomfort, Elia leaned forward with a sad smile on her face.

"Make no mistake, Lyanna, a mistress, is a politer word for whore. You have joined their ranks, and like them, your life will never be the same. I pray you are made of sterner stuff, for you will need it. Nobility can be cruel, and they will be to you."

Elia shook her head. 

"You say you didn't want the life you saw before you with Robert, but by being with Rhaegar, you are too blind to see that you don't really mean it? For someone who does not want such an existence, you became the architect of the type of life you did not want for yourself. Not only did you design such a reality for yourself, but you also created one for me. Can you not see how Rhaegar is now Robert in this tragic tale?"

The girl moved towards the bed, falling to sit on the edge of it. Her eyes darting as if she were trying to make sense of Elia's words. Perhaps she was, or maybe she was looking for a defensible argument. What could justify the girl's actions, Elia could not entertain.

"What I find hard to reconcile, Lyanna, and perhaps you can provide clarity for my husband could not, is how you could not truly see what kind of man Rhaegar was? I understand how I didn't. He presented in one way to me, unattached. But to you, he was married, and for all your youthfulness, you knew how the realm would have seen me. How they would have treated me?"

Elia shook her head in anger and resentment. Yes, resentment...

"How were you capable of seeing to your own happiness with the same man who sought to destroy my own? If he treated me, his wife, the mother of his children with such disregard--a man who admits to me he told you of how _fond he was of me_. Did the thought ever occur to you that in the future, he would have no problem treating you thusly?"

Wet gray eyes caught Elia's, and unlike the Stark men's gray eyes, she found herself unmoved by sight. 

"He loves me. I suppose that made it different." The Northerner spoke softly.

"Love, fondness, tenderness, care, are they not all words that could be misconstrued to mean the same thing. A word can have different shades, but unless we agree to look at it, the same way misunderstandings can arise. I can see that now. Do you?"

The girl shook her head before turning her head away from Elia, facing a wall. The subtle shake of her shoulders was Elia's only sign that Lyanna had heard her.

"Rhaegar..." His name came out like a broken whisper. Elia had to harden her heart upon hearing such a fractured sound. Was it not long ago on the island of Dragonstone and on her brother's ship has such a shattered word left her own lips? 

Elia knows she owes Lyanna Stark nothing, but she can admit, if only to herself, that she understands the pain that man could bring a tender heart. Especially when one believes in another so acutely. When they surrender all their trust only to learn a costly lesson—the truth, the realness was only genuine for one person, for you.

"I am slowly learning that Rhaegar's definition of love does not truly match how most define the word. Even if you push me aside, Lyanna, you claimed he loved his children. If things were different, it would have been them who died."

"What do you mean?"

With that opening, Elia pulled the water from the air that surrounded the Stark, and she _showed her_. 

All of it. Elia's wedding, their lovemaking over the years, Rhaegar's tomes, his talks of prophecy, his bouts of melancholy, Elia's near deaths during her pregnancy, the maddening times, the loving times, the playful times, the moments he spent with their children, the last moment on the dock in Dragonstone. 

She unleashed the original path they all were to take, the death and gore of it all, the visit with Mother Rhoyne, the revelations and truths Elia had learned on this new path leading them to the current moment in time.

"Gods, how did you do that?"

Lyanna sent her a frenzied look before reaching down with two hands to hold her womb. 

"Do not worry, Lyanna, that babe will not come to be. Things are different now."

The girl began to weep. The kind of crying that breaks your soul.

"You know Lyanna, for all of Lord Baratheon's faults, I do not think he would have dishonored you to the extend Rhaegar has done to me. Could he have taken a mistress or dallied with random whores? I suppose so. I just do not think Robert would have left you and try to marry another, which would put you and your children's inheritance in jeopardy."

Lyanna just looked at Elia. The tears tracking her face. 

"While I can understand neither outcome sounds palatable, only one path would have impacted you. As the woman injured by this, I would have been alright with that outcome. Oh, Lyanna, though it vexes me to say I would have learned to accept you has his mistress, if he hadn't tried to make you his wife and sire children with you as well. In the end, I find the hypocrisy of your actions just too much to comprehend."

"Rhaegar and I—my feelings for him are so complicated."

"I think I understand a bit. You had to have Rhaegar, and so you did."

"I hadn't truly considered you--"

"Oh, Lady Lyanna, that is abundantly clear. Make no mistake. Not only did you NOT think of me, but you also had no thoughts of my children, or your family, your House, and your homeland. We were born into a life where things are expected of us. Our life is not just ours alone. Were you not taught this? I refused to believe a High Lord, widower or not, would have neglected his duty in teaching you about yours."

"Do not speak ill of my father? He was a good man. A good lord and father." Lyanna jumped up and stood before Elia. Ah, there is the She-Wolf of Winterfell. The Dornish Princess had to look up from her position on the chair. Lyanna's action did nothing to move Elia as she sat back to get a better look at the young woman. 

"I am not speaking ill of him. I am speaking ill of you. Did I not say I refuse to believe he would not have told you what was expected of you as a High Lord's daughter? It was you who acted contrary to his teaching. You! No one else."

"If you think I spoke ill, then might I suggest you prepare yourself for sharper tongues that have no cause to offer your father any form of respectful remembrance. You are a testament to your House. It does not matter if it is not right or fair. That is not the world we live in today. Perhaps one day matters will differ, but now they do not, and your willfulness was your downfall and with it your family's honor."

A panicked expression grew on Lyanna's face. Elia rose. She was done. There was nothing more to be said for either woman. As she walked to the door, she left Lady Lyanna with a parting word.

"Rest assured, I am sure something will arise that might allow you to help restore your family's name."

"What do you mean? How? By choosing to be a hostage in Dorne for the rest of my life or married to a man older than my father is."

Elia raised her hand to knock on the door.

"Was, dear, older than your father was. And yes, that is exactly how."

The Northerner gasped, growing paler than was probably healthy. Elia knew it was a painful reminder, a hurtful shot, but she found little shame in it. 

"I guess life in Dorne it is." Lyanna shot back.

Elia released a dark chuckle as her shoulders folded into herself as she shrugged off the silliness of the young woman before her. 

"I had considered the Silent Sisters for you, but then you are not a follower of the Sevens. The punishment would not fit. Nevermind it now. It is apparent that you still do not understand. I am beginning to think it wasn't for your father's lack of trying."

Releasing a pent-up breath, Elia looked skyward, responding before Lyanna had a chance to.

"You do not get to choose. No matter how much we would like such control over our own lives. Perhaps if you had not run away, there might have been a chance, but now Lyanna, there are no options for you but the path your brother and Lord chooses. So, the question becomes, what is more lucrative in restoring the Stark name that you had a heavy hand in impinging—you spending an eternity in Dorne well cared for or a marriage alliance with one of the oldest and powerful families in the realm, an option most young women would not be afforded after what you have done."

Lyanna stared at her in silence—a sickening awareness creeping across the girl's visage. 

"I don't want it."

"Hmmm...well, if Brandon had the choice, then Dorne it would be, but he's more than that. He is now Lord Stark, and a marriage alliance at such a time would be the most advantageous for the North."

Turning to knock on the door, Elia heard a thump sounded behind her.

It was only when Elia turned to walk down the stairs did she catch a glimpse of Lady Lyanna on the floor as she wept through her hands as they covered her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> There are still more Tower/Tower-adjacent moments to come. Don't worry you'll get it all today. I will post the last two chapters before Wednesday.


	25. Chapter 24 Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am just playing with them. 
> 
> As promised, here is part II.

The morning they were to leave for Kingsgrave, Elia watched her brother as he reclined against the kitchen's stone doorway. She had noticed his eyes following Ellaria Sand the evening before as she had helped the men settle a camp that surrounded the Tower.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lord Stark and Arryn were in discussions. Not surprising, as she was sure there was much to settle on. Lord Baratheon and Baelor were placing the last of their supplies into their saddlebags. It was decided these men would ride out with Ser Myles and a few Kingsgrave men to prepare the Lord for their return. 

Everyone else would ride together afterward. This would be the first time Rhaegar and Lyanna would see each other. If only for a short time. 

As men climbed their horses, little remained in the Tower. Arthur and Oswell were seated on the largest mount they had. The men sat back-to-back with their wrists and ankles bound to each other. The men stared ahead—nary an expression upon their faces. Elia wondered for a moment if the show was for them or for Rhaegar. She knew she wouldn't care enough to ask. 

Rhaegar sat on his horse. He would ride between her brother and Leo while Manfrey followed behind him. 

A door pulled her attention away from her wayward husband. Lyanna Stark made her way down the stairs. Elia could see how the girl was begging for Rhaegar to look at her, but he didn't. The lack of action was not because he didn't know she had come out of her room; too many people turned to watch her descend. 

Elia shouldn't have felt for the girl, but she did—for this one moment, she did. There was no doubt in Elia's heart that Lyanna loved Rhaegar with everything she is. That kind of love is all-consuming, infecting anyone basking in its presence. Such feelings will kill the light in you, which subsists on love if it is not reciprocated. Before her stood a girl pleading for a glimmer of hope that Rhaegar still felt the same. Her countenance imploring that Rhaegar would gift that to her by turning to her or perhaps call out her name in a passionate declaration. 

But he hadn't. He just looked ahead as his eyes occasionally darted towards Elia's own gaze. 

Elia turned her horse towards Kingsgrave, and the masses behind her followed. Not long after they began their journey, a loud crack tore open the silence of the desert. Pulling her horse to a stop, her companions followed suit as they turned to watch the Tower raging with fire. The black plume of smoke darkening the sky like a cloud. In the distance was a man, a rider, flying across the desert sands. 

It took her just a short moment to realize who it was. Curly hair pulled away from his face as he rode hard. 

Manfrey.

Riding up to her, his rapid breath a sign of his physical exertion. His smile gentle, such a sharp contrast to the heat in his eyes. 

Elia almost missed Rhaegar's forced cough.

"I thought considering its resent infestation, it would be best to cleanse the Tower with fire."

Finding herself attempting not to smile. How could this man make her lose sense of how she should feel given the situation? Shaking her head, Elia returned the man's smile. 

"How considerate of you, Manfrey? If only there were more men like you. So thoughtful."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Manfrey cut Rheagar and Arthur a look. That was not so unexpected for her, as she knows Manfrey's feelings towards both men. What did surprise her were the looks on Rhaegar's and Arthur's faces that ranged from riled to dejected.

Looking away, Elia continued to ride, and once again, everyone followed.

The scent of smoke in the air had never smelled so—pleasant, she thought.

Midway in their journey, they stopped to rest. Though they did not speak, and there was a distance between them, Rhaegar and Lyanna were close enough to see each other. 

Elia noticed how Ellaria had walked towards Oberyn with a pouch of some sort. She knew late last night her brother sought out the woman. For the first time in what she could remember, Elia found her brother beside a beautiful woman as they both were hunched over a—book. In all honesty, she had expected to find him _inside a beautiful woman as they both were hunched over a table...book be damned._

They spoke animatedly to each other, and when Elia asked him what had captured his attention so, he said he was enthralled by her understanding of herbs, tonics, and lotions. His voice laced with interest and respect. Those attributes Elia never really thought concerned her brother in the slightest. 

The young woman stopped along her journey to him, in between Rhaegar and Lyanna, when they all heard Lyanna.

"I need more rest. I could be with child. Blame me if you wish, but do not punish my child."

Elia could feel so many eyes on her. Still, she smiled as she bit into an apple, for the Princess knew what Lyanna Stark did not even though Elia did tell her she was not with child.

"Rest assure, Lady Lyanna, such a case cannot be made for that assertion."

"What? But I have been taking the tea as you prepared for me."

Her own eyes met Uller's natural born daughter's. Sending a subtle nod, Ellaria turned towards Lyanna. 

"Yes, well, as I am the one who prepared the teas, I know for certain you are not with child. You see, my mother, a paramour to my father, was well versed in the arts of preparing a body to accept life or to ensure a seed would not grow. Both present in the same way in a woman's body. Now that you haven't had tea, you will discover your woman's blood will return in a few days."

"You have been impairing us. After we took you in and let you remain. I thought we understood each other, both of us having fathers who demanded we do duties we did not care for." 

Lya's voice shook with betrayal.

"Hmmm...what I had told you was, I was there because of my father. As his daughter, he has certain expectations of me and expects that I act in accordance to further my House. I never shared what those expectations were. It was you who made the assumption."

"Gods," Rhaegar's voice held astonishment and anger.

"Do you know what you have done? The prophecy..."

Ellaria turned to Rhaegar.

"I am not well-versed in prophecy, your Grace, but I can say with strong conviction that the Gods will see their will done regardless of what choices we make or rituals we recite."

Returning her gaze to Lyanna, as though the crowd around her did not exist. 

"Now, my father tasked me with ensuring you did not get with child. That is what I have done without harm to you or your ability to birth a living child in the future. Which I am sure you and your future husband, should you find yourself with one, will appreciate. I did this with tea for you—"

The beauty swung her gaze to the Crown Prince.

"—and for you, I added a specially blended paste into your wine which served to decrease your—vitality. I will admit there is a bit of an addictive element to it, but a few days without and you will find your mind less distracted and more settled—clear and focused, I would say."

"You snake!"

Lyanna spat in a broken whisper, but the Dornish woman seemed unfazed. 

Without must fanfare, Elia thought it was time to bring the charade to an end.

"I think under the circumstances, it is time I introduce you to the woman you called Lara. Your Grace and Lady Lyanna, I graciously present Ellaria Sand, the dearly loved natural-born daughter of Lord Harmen Uller. Before you stands the infamous Bastard of Hellholt."

"The honor is all mine, my Princess." 

The woman presented Elia with a bow created out of the privilege of recognition and living as a high-born lord's daughter. A bastard she may be, but all know her father loved his paramour—Ellaria's mother for decades before she died five years ago. While she may not have been trueborn, Ellaria's carried herself like a lady, and at this moment, no words were ever truer.

"I shared with you. I told you how much I understood the desire to be more than the expectations of your father."

Lyanna's voice was despondent while Rhaegar's eyes raged.

"Yes, you did. The difference between us is I accepted my duty. By the looks of things, it appears you may have another opportunity to follow such a path—a path duty, and hopefully service to your House."

Dismissing her husband and the Stark girl without another glance, Ellaria walked to Oberyn. She extended her arm, a small purse in her hand, and a smirk on her lips. 

Oberyn's expression was unlike anything Elia had ever seen before. A man so self-possessed and sure. Cocky at worst. He just looked up at Ellaria Sand from his seated position on the ground as though the woman slew a dragon. Eyes wide, right brow raised, and mouth slacked—no smirk or careless grin, just awe and...respect.

Hiding her smile, Elia bit into her apple once again as her gaze moved from Leo and ending with Manfrey. Together they secretly shared the hilarity of the moment as a family.

*****

Meanwhile, in Sunspear, the chamber doors to the dining hall open to Doran's mild surprise and his guest. The eyes of Lords Hightower, Tully, and Lannister, as well as the Valyrian colored gaze of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, swung to take note of the regal woman who just entered the room. 

"Welcome, Lady Olenna. We have been waiting for you."

The woman walked up to the table, a soured expression on her face. Doran had to admit he found that her name seemed to always rest in that position. He did not think it was a guise with her. 

"Is that so? Lord Leyton, I hope you have not forgotten to whom you are sworn. My son might consider your presence her an act of treason towards our House. A tragic outcome for your dear daughter would you think it not."

"Ugh, that will be enough mock outrage out of you, Lady Olenna." 

Doran hid his smile behind his cup as Lady Rhaelle spoke to the Queen of Thrones.

"I must say you are losing your touch. You were much more convincing when my brother broke faith with your betrothal. Not that you really minded. Don't forget, I am one of the few old enough to remember that time."

"Hmmm...you can't blame a young maid for not wanting to marry a man who expressed his interest in his own."

Everyone knew of the rumors that followed Prince Daeron Targaryen. Though Doran should not have found himself surprised, the harpy would bring it up in mixed company. The Reachmen call us snakes, but I would wager more snakes hide in the Reach's soil-rich grass than in all of Dorne. The woman before him being their queen. 

"Let's be clear, my Lady, you never wanted to marry him before such revelations. Perhaps if you had, then we would not find ourselves in the situation we have. Where your bannerman are put in a position where they must make a choice—to serve their liege or their Prince."

Tywin dryly declared as he cut a piece of fruit on his plate with a small sample of—rage.

"In this case, that answer is one and the same."

"Lady Olenna, please have a seat. 

The servants made haste to prepare a setting for the woman. She continued to look discontent, but Doran hadn't really thought she had reason to look otherwise. 

"You are all committing treason. My House wants no part of it. What I do want is to know how you are stealing the water from the Reach."

Lord Tully's shoulders shook in quiet laughter. He gazes at the woman as though she was mad. 

"Do you hear yourself? How can anyone take enough water from The Reach to do you and your people harm?"

"I suppose it matters not. The King will root you out. As we stopped for provision in Oldtown, I learned that the King has called his banners. You are all expected to be there. This act of treason on our part will not end well."

"Why do you care?" Rhaella asked.

"I don't, not for you. But you..." The old woman turned to Lord Leyton.

"This foolery will cost you our head and the economic power of your House. My son will not stick out his neck any further than he must. Hmm...perhaps the King will reward him with your seat. Willas will have Highgarden with Garlan in Oldtown."

As this seemed a conversation between liege and bannerman, Doran was content to watch them without much interference from him. His eyes darted to the raven he received from Elia yesterday. It seemed his sister was en route from Kingsgrave to Skyreach. A feeling of upward momentum rushed through him. 

Doran considered Lord Leyton's expression. The man seemed less cowed and more impassive as he looked directly at the former Lady of Highgarden.

"Hmmm...I suppose you could be right. This separation between our loyalties was never a thing I wanted. I wrote to my daughter and your son. I told him to come, but he made it clear much like his mother that he would have no part in this."

"Ha, and if all works according to plan, which I have no doubt it will. He truly will have _no part in this_.” 

Lady Rhaelle spoke as though she were thinking aloud. Once again, Doran hid his grin. The Princess noticed and sent him a tactful wink. 

"Alliances have been made, Olenna. I must see to my own House, but as we do share grandchildren and my daughter is Lord Mace's wife, I will do my best to see that they do not lose much."

"Such arrogance, Leyton. It will be the end of you. Any last words you'd like me to impart to your daughter."

The older man's blue eyes hardened as he met the Queen of Thornes level smirk. 

"Feel free to remind her of her House words, you may grow strong, but we light the way. If you want your House to survive the war to come to Lady Olenna, then might I suggest you follow my daughter's lead. Your son has allowed King Aerys to use him as his first shot in this war. My daughter's cooler head will prevail. Like you, she has her children's legacies to protect."

The silence was heavy, and Doran found himself pleased that the crone's angry gaze was focused on Lord Leyton. 

"I received a raven from Princess Elia. They are returning with the Prince."

All eyes shifted to him. Various expression flitted over their faces. They were to depart from there in two days. I imagine they will make it to Skyreach in another 2 days after that. 

"Some of our guests will head North." 

Lord Tully sat up straighter. The man leaned in further to the table. 

"Anything else, Prince Doran."

"It seems they have been made aware of the situation at Storm's End."

Skirting his gaze over to the Princess, her mouth pursed as she took a deep breath. He knew she worried for her kin—the remaining children of her only child. He has approached her to offer his assistance, but all the woman requested was the allowance to send as many ravens as she could in hopes that one would make it through. A letter she hoped will alert Stannis that he was not alone and that they were coming. 

The woman spoke of how serious a young man Stannis was and how she feared her grief, left her ill-equipped to help the boy, who is now barely a man adjust. He was not as handsome or charismatic as his brothers, an awkward boy, but he was smart like her late husband. There was pride in her eyes when she spoke of him. 

"Lord Baratheon will travel back to Sunspear. It seems my sister and your grandson have discussed a plan for assisting young Stannis." 

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and it seems my part in this help requires that I bid you a good day. Oh, and Lady Olenna, please see yourself safely back to The Reach. I think I speak for all of us when I say, _we wish you good fortune in the wars to come._ ”

Without further wait, Doran left the Lords and Ladies to their snapping. He trusted his people to keep him informed. 

Now it seemed he needed to rally his bannerman.

*****

Elia knew the Storm Lord was planning to travel back to Dorne with her retinue. On the morrow, Manfrey and a small army of men were to escort the Starks and Lord Arryn down the river from Skyreach that flowed towards the Yronwood. The letters that awaited her from Doran and Lord Yronwood assured them that the ship would be ready and received at the coastline.

Manfrey and a company of men would follow the Starks as far as Winterfell, where Lord Stark has promised to provide provisions and the necessary ware they would need to survive the harsh elements of Winter. The Wolf Lord would also send some men with the Dornish contingent to the Wall and beyond it. It hurt Elia to think of Manfrey gone, but he would not relent. 

Meanwhile, the Starks and the Old Falcon were heading back to their homelands in preparation for defense. The men had been gone far too long, and now that the King has acted against House Baratheon by sending House Tyrell to siege Storm's End—war had come. 

A part of her knew that war was inevitable. Still, she has learned much, and the depths of her knowledge reassures her belief that very little blood needed to be shed—at least none with Rhoynish blood that is.

Another reason for the Northern return was to prepare for Lyanna Stark's marriage to Lord Arryn. A proper wedding approved before the North and, more importantly, by their Gods. A union performed before their beloved weirwood. 

If she were honest with herself, Elia thought that perhaps Lyanna Stark had more control over her life's trajectory than most women. A woman ruined in the eyes of most, she still managed a good match—a drop of good fortune for House Stark. Most Houses would not survive such a scandal this well, but then the Starks descend from almost 8,000 years of Kings of Winter had they not. Elia knows better than most of the power in that kind of blood. 

Returning to the fate of the young woman. She imagines the transition from a handsome prince to a lord advanced in age would be heartbreaking for any young woman who has any small belief in love. The heart of that woman is in such anguish, but Elia remarks on how much influence Lyanna has had on the path before her. Another trajectory had been decided for her in a match with Robert, but Lyanna felt and chose differently. Either way, she would have had to contend with the consequences of either outcome. 

At least, in this case, the young woman should find comfort in the consequences being from the choices she had made. Unfortunately, Elia did not think that was the case if her glimpses into Lyanna Stark's state were anything to go by. Perhaps the young Stark will feel differently in time...with age, experience, and with any luck—motherhood.  
A knock at her door drew her attention from her thoughts.

"Eddard Stark, my Princess."

Elia was surprised by the announcement but approve his request to meet with her in the solar she was offered upon their arrival by Lord Fowler. 

"Lord Eddard,"

"Princess Elia, I am sorry to disturb you, but I was not sure where to go." 

The man seemed uneasy, and that roused Elia's curiosity.

"Well, without knowing the exact terms that have brought you here, I am not sure how you would like me to assist you."

Gray-eyes stared at her. Unflinching. Guileless. Honorable. Compassionate. This was the man Ashara had fallen in love with, and Elia could understand the allure---the why? Elia was well acquainted with such a gaze on a different man when he would look at her. It was quite an aphrodisiac. 

"I hesitate because it concerns my sister, and I think you would agree that when it pertains to her, you have done more than enough. I do not wish to tear a wound and make it worse by rubbing glass into it."

"Make your ask and give me the courtesy of deciding for myself, though I do appreciate your consideration of my feelings. The truth is, for all your consideration of my feelings, you have already made the decision that your want is more important than my peace of mind. So now that we have that addressed and done with. What is it that you want from me?"

The Stark before her continued to stare at her. Elia could tell he was thinking about her response. He is a careful man, she thought. Conservative is good but stall too long, and thought becomes stuck in inaction. Where do you lie, Eddard Stark?

The man licked at his lips before he nodded and took a seat in front of her. 

"I suppose you are right. My brother has granted Robert permission for a short visit with Lyanna."

That news surprised her. She hadn't heard and imagined by now she would have. 

"When is this meeting to happen?"

"Well, I just left his chamber—"

Ah, Elia thought, this just happened. 

"—and Brandon left to inform our sister to prepare to meet privately with Robert in an hour."

"Privately?"

"Well, privately in the sense that we will be at the door."

"I see. I am not sure what you wish from me."

"I am asking that you are too present in the room."

Elia released a laugh. That was an outrageous idea, and she told him so. 

"You misunderstand me, Princess. I don't mean that you should be in the room. If you were willing, I am asking you to use your—ability to bear witness to their meeting. If there is something improper, I ask that you share it with me."

The thought wasn't outrageous after all, for now, that she has been made aware of this meeting she had planned to do just as he had suggested. 

Elia nodded.

"Very well. I will do this, but if there is nothing of note worth sharing, I will not reveal the contents of Lord Baratheon's words."

The young man kneeled before her. 

"My humble appreciation, Princess."

Elia rose. She gently rested her hand on Eddard's shoulder before she turned to walk towards the window. 

"I need a bit of time to prepare."

She said not in truth but in a desire to be left alone. 

The young man rose and quietly exited her room. 

Elia stared out of the window at the midday sky. The clouds receded a bit more every day, but there was still enough to call forth the smell of rain that was soon to come. There she remained as the drops fell from a sprinkle to a torrent. It was in that heavy rain that Elia watched Lord Baratheon turn his head as he listened to words spoken by Lord Stark before the Northman sealed the door shut with his sister and her former betrothed.

A deep breath was all she needed to bring herself into the room. Elia watched as the tall man walked towards the unlit hearth. Lyanna Stark's arms leaned on the edge of the window as the girl looked out. Elia noted how the drops of water touched the young woman's skin and how they slid down her skin to pool on the ledge. No reaction of either the man or the water registered on her face. 

"Many people made it a point to dissuade me from meeting with you. I found I could not adhere to such an idea, and now you head North, and I may never have such an opportunity to do so. At least not with propriety. The next time we meet, you will no longer be Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell but rather, Lady Lyanna Stark, the wife of Lord Jon Arryn and the Lady of the Vale and Eyrie. With such a title, a talk of our past will never be proper, and my respect for Jon—for Lord Arryn will prevent me from ever addressing our history."

"Perhaps you should have listened to your advisors, my Lord."

Robert's jaw clenched. A clear definition accentuated when he turned his head slightly away from Lyanna. Oh, Robert, why are you here? This chit is still within her own head. For a woman who wants so desperately to be heard, she rarely returns the consideration. She listens very little. Do you not remember yourself at such an age?

"Perhaps, but I am here, and so are you."

"Unlike you, I have nothing I want or need to discuss."

"I am sure you think so, but I suppose on this point, we will not find agreement."

"Hmmm...and yet here we are. What is it you want, my Lord?"

There was a long pause. Robert said nothing until Lyanna turned her head towards him. 

"We knew—know very little of each other, and I find we both created stories of who the other was."

"My thoughts of you are connected to facts, Lord Baratheon. You father bastards. It is what you do. A man who has had the taste of finding outlets outside of the marriage bed are men who could never be true to his wife."

Robert's bark of laughter caused both women to jump. 

"You speak of men who have had a taste of another outside of marriage. The woman who willingly left with Rhaegar."

This statement caused the young woman to entirely turn towards Robert. 

"Rhaegar and I married before we laid together. I have nothing to be ashamed of. We have wedded first, and any child we could have had from that union would have been trueborn, unlike you and your bastard."

The Storm Lord shook his head in what looked like an attempt to clear it. Elia understood his confusion, for she had felt it herself. 

"That wasn't your reality, though. Just because you stood proudly among your precious trees and a corrupted Septon as you recited words. Words you have no true understanding of. That does not mean you were wedded. That is fact, my Lady."

Lyanna's gaze fell away once again, staring out the window.

"So, I was damned in your eyes because I had not married and laid with you first. Is that what you are saying? Are you telling me you would have been perfectly fine with me taking another woman into our marriage if I had married her before siring children with her?"

"Absolutely not!"

"And yet is that not what you did." Robert's voice rose in anger and frustration.

"I was condemned because I dared sire a child before we were even betrothed—an unattached man. I thought there was no way you would have left with Rhaegar willingly. I was so sure. Why would a woman who felt so strongly about my past actions open herself to a man who was wedded and who fathered children? In my mind, I thought---" 

His voice trailed. 

"--she wouldn't." 

Elia heard all that Lord Baratheon kept held at bay with his anger and bluster. He was confused and hurt, feelings men were expected to stay silent and under guard. 

"It was never my plan to father a bastard. After my parents died, I will admit I lost myself for a bit. They were sent by the Mad King to find a suitable bride for your precious Rhaegar."

Robert scoffed. Lyanna remained quiet.

"Ned told me that your parents had loved each other. Cousins who had loved from when they were young and who were fortunate to be matched. He said your father's loss of her consumed him for a time and that he never thought your father truly got past losing her."

"Yes, my parents did love each other."

Lyanna's voice quivered with emotion. 

"My parents were not a love match—the only son of the Storm Lord and Princess Rhaelle. The war of the marriage mart was intense, but the Estermont's secured the coup in the end. They could have stayed the way of most political marriages. My father in his own world and my mother in hers, but they didn't. Somehow, someway, they found a way to love each other. They loved each other so much so that my mother refused to remain in Storm's End while my father completed the task set by the King."

"They called home from the Eyrie. I remained in Storm's End, for that was my duty. I was only to be there for a few turns of the moon, and upon their return, I would head back to the Vale."

Robert walked to a table and poured a glass of wine. He sat in a seat that gave him a view of Lyanna, but it afforded them great physical distance. The man held the cup, but he did not drink—his eyes on the Stark girl. 

His voice took on a distant tone as though he were lost deep in memory. 

"Do you know I stood on the parapet with my brother Stannis when their ship went down? All these years, I have lived with this awareness that I was so close, and with all the resources we had at Storm's End—for all the greatness that comes with the Baratheon name, I could not save them. I watched them die in the most desperate of ways. Sinking to the bottom of the sea when all they wanted to do was live to take that next breath that offered them the promise of life, but that wasn't meant to be because when they took their last breath, it only offered them death."

Elia turned away. She could barely see past the tears that streamed down her face. The element that was the source of her power took life away from Robert's parents. How did Mother Rhoyne come to the decision to reveal herself to Oberyn? Why couldn't time have gone back further—back to the past so that Robert would not have lost his parents? Guilt wrapped around Elia's heart. Robert Baratheon was a broken man, and somehow no one ever saw it.

"I am sorry for your loss, Lord Baratheon."

Lyanna's voice was measured, but Elia could see that the young woman was affected. So there still beats a living heart under all that arrogance, Elia mused. 

Robert nodded, acknowledging he had heard the young Northerner.

"I guess I can admit now, in the midst of you who no one would dare believe if it were to be revealed, that I lost my way for a bit. Yes, I slept with women. It started with one. A nice girl in the Eyrie who always had a kind smile for me. I laid with her, and with little thought of the consequences, I got her with child."

Lyanna's mouth pursed, but she said nothing. Robert, it appeared, didn't notice or didn't care. Elia had speculated it was the latter. 

"I hadn't expected her, and I hadn't expected how I would feel when I saw her. She looked like a Baratheon, and she was mine. I saw no harm in her knowing who I was and to see to her welfare. She was naught but a bastard girl whose life I had made hard by the nature of her birth. That was not her fault."

"I could see my parents' faces when I gazed into hers. They would not have been happy with my irresponsibility. Still, their level of disappointment would have been heightened if I had abandoned her. After all, my house founder, Orys Baratheon, was a bastard himself. We tend to see bastards a bit differently, I suppose." 

"Regardless, I was willing to suffer the wrath of my parents' ghost for you. I would have set my natural-born daughter, Mya, aside so that you would never have to hear a word of her existence. I had hoped that in time we could have gone from a political match to a union that found genuine affection for each other."

The man sighed as his blue gaze bore into the young woman. Elia was not surprised to see Lyanna begin to move as though his stare made her uncomfortable. I imagine it does. What is it you see when you look at him, Lyanna? What part of your conscious that still lives is moved?

"Gods, I was halfway there. I supposed I fell for the story of you I had created for myself. I guess I should thank the gods that your true nature was revealed to me. Saving me from such a monumental mistake."

The man took a long sip from his cup—the first since he poured it. 

"I wanted to enter a marriage with love, Robert. I wanted a match where my love knew who I was and married me for that knowledge alone. You loved the idea of me, but you didn't know me. We could never attain what you aspired us to."

"I light of recent discoveries, I must agree. You no longer need to concern yourself over my claim. I have released you and your family from our betrothal. A blessing, I suppose, for it would pain me to know such a woman would have followed on the heels of my mother and grandmother—women of duty who were fortunate enough to find genuine affection in their marriages. Now we find ourselves with new paths to walk. I am not sure if you were told, but I will marry Lady Lysa Tully."

The tall man rose. He placed his cup on the table as he walked towards the door. 

"Time will tell if my hope for a happy match is to be, but I do not think you truly ever got your wish, Lyanna. You wanted to marry someone who knew you, but what did Rhaegar truly know of you. In the end, Rhaegar admitted before all that he chose you because you fit the idea of a woman he wanted. How was that different from what I had done?"

The man knocked at the door; Brandon Stark was the one to open it. 

"Lord Stark, thank you for the time."

Brandon nodded.

Elia watched as Robert's eyes turned to Lyanna. A stony smirk tugged at his lip. Ah, there is the Robert Elia had seen before.

"All the best, Lady Lyanna, on your upcoming marriage. It may not be the love match you had hoped for, but you surely will marry a man who knows who you really are and what you are capable of. I hope you find happiness in such a union—as that is truly all you ever wanted."

Robert left and with him, so did Brandon Stark, not before settling an emotionless stare upon his sister.

Elia noticed the girl turned away from her brother. Silent tears fell from her lifeless eyes as she continued to stare outside the window. All that was shared would be forever kept in secret, she thought, for the Storm Lord shared the most intimate parts of himself—he thought he had done so with a woman no one would believe. 

While there is a part of her that feels guilty for witnessing this man's act of vulnerability, she did make an observation of note that she would share with Eddard Stark. It had not taken long for the knock at her door to return. 

"Enter, "

"Princess,"

Elia continued to look outside as the rain began to subside. 

"There isn't much to share—"

Turning away to look at the handsome Northerner, she smiled sadly.

"—but I think it prudent that you keep your sister away from windows. Especially those that come with great height. Have you noticed her affinity for them? She stares out of them often—the Tower and here."

"Lya wouldn't be so weak-willed. She is too willful to commit such a sin."

Elia laughed as she shook her head. 

"And how many times have I been told those very same words by you? Every time I challenged the notion you have of her. You asked for my help. I have given it to you. If you wish you dismiss my advice, then I leave it in your hands."

Finding a seat, Elia took a slice of orange from a small platter on the table before her. She took a bite as she let her words fall on the ears of the man before her. 

"While I have agreed to the marriage of your sister to Lord Arryn as payment for her treachery in all of this, I will gladly accept her death as payment regardless if it comes at her hands. I care naught. Do what you will, Lord Eddard? Just remember the last time you said, _Lya wouldn't_ , which one of us knew your sister's heart better? Which one of us was right?"

Something seemed to shift in the man's gray eyes. A light of acquiesces shined. Was this a sign he had agreed with Elia's words or was this a more profound recognition—an acceptance that his kin was capable of more than the series of limited behaviors he had programmed for his sister? 

"Thank you, Princess. I have taken enough of your time as it stands."

Elia acknowledged his cue to her that he wished to be dismissed. 

As the man closed the door behind him, a familiar voice appeared. 

"He is loyal to a fault. It might be perceived as his greatest weakness."

Oberyn, Elia smiled.

"I would say a great many would say the same of you. Do not hate the man for loving his sister? It is his prerogative."

"Hmmph." 

Oberyn dropped himself on the chaise with his arms folded over his chest. 

"You remind me of Rhaenys when she is denied a treat. How I miss my children, Oberyn. I had to move forward while they stayed in Sunspear."

"You could not have them underfoot, Sister, you know this."

"I know, but that knowledge does little to ease my guilt. My children have been growing all these moons with very little of my attention. At night I was them, you know."

Sighing deeply, Elia tries to see her children in her mind's eye. 

"I watch as Rhaenys crawls over her cousins and flees their room in search for Ashara. She cries often and asks for me. She asks for Rhaegar. My sundragon does not understand why we are not there, Brother. That kills a bit of my soul."

"My son, my Aegon, I try to remember the weight of him in my arms, but I can never get it right. His features blur when I dream of him, and when I watch him through the water, he is many moons old. Does he remember my voice or my scent? I wonder..."

"You live another day to wonder, Elia. Remember that."

Elia knew she could count on her brash and outrageous brother to say the right thing. She sent him a radiant smile.

"Might I say before I leave, you need no reminder that Manfrey leaves for the North tomorrow?"

Her smile dimmed. She knew Manfrey had his own reasons for going North. He told her why, and he asked her to trust him. Elia knew he spoke the truth, but the explanation did not bring joy to her heart. 

"No, I don't, so why would you?"

“Because, I know you are _wondering_. I have long accepted that you are not like me. You hold relations with others to a certain standard. You have your own ethos. I have always respected it though it is not my way. But in light of everything, of all you know, would it be so wrong of you to choose to love him before he goes. You owe Rhaegar nothing, and unless I am remiss, you have no intention of rekindling matters with him."

"Mother, no!"

"Then might you consider how you wish to leave matters with Manfrey. We both know he is the blood of the sun, and he is going into the deepest heart of Winter. He may not return, Elia."

Oberyn's voice crackled, and Elia knew he was more affected than he has revealed. Of course, he would be. Manfrey was a brother he chose. 

"Now is the time to choose how you want to remember your last moments with him?"

Elia barely felt her brother's kiss on her head as she stared into nothingness, considering her brother's words.

*****

Oberyn's words landed heavily on her heart, and she found herself walking towards Rhaegar's room. Standing guard at his door were the knights who would forever be known as _his men_. Their actions aligning them with acting in the best interest, not of their King or realm, but in the interest of a man they chose to serve. 

Upon much reflection and conversation with the lords in attendance. Elia had decided that from this moment forward, a Kingsguard service would last for a short duration of which they must be approved to remain once their terms of service were at its end or there was a change in Kings. Men die, after all, even kings.

Such a change was to ensure that those who served were faithful to the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but more importantly, the knights kept first to the oath they made when they took on the knighthood. Perhaps if the commitment superseded their blind devotion to a king, then these men would have stopped many a Targaryen man from the abuses they levied on their wives, sisters, and daughters.

Elia knew it was hard to serve two masters, and that is what the Kingsguard did. She told Sers Arthur and Oswell this. The men shared a look but said nothing. Elia thought they didn't have to. She witnessed their actions, dissatisfaction with their Prince, and their frustration with the man. However, they were cautious about echoing their dismay. Oh, so often they reminded the other of their oaths. 

A part of her pitied these men. As sons of lords, they have the most freedom in their world, and they willingly give it up to serve an institution that is easily corrupted by the one who commands it. Many choose when they are young and do not know what they are committing to, much like Ser Jaime. No one can genuinely be trustworthy if they cannot be allowed the space to live by the ethos that caught the Crown's eye. 

Lord Arryn considered her plan risky, for how can loyalty be sown. Elia reminded him that the way things were done now did little to help anyone who was not the King or his heir. Sadly, in recent times neither father nor son made for good rulership. Let us not forget the permissiveness and selfishness of those who came before. 

Though they are monitored by the guard of the keep and are presently without swords, Arthur and Oswell are free to guard the charge they chose to follow. 

Standing in front of the door, Elia notes the eyes on her. Knights from Sunspear and Kingsgrave. She could even sense Ser Oswell's uncomfortable gaze on her. Elia ignored it all as she stared directly into the eyes of Ser Arthur Dayne.

The man swallowed deeply, but he did not speak, nor did he avert his gaze. Regret shone from his eyes. Perhaps it was remorse. Elia found it hard to tell. It seems the man she always thought she knew—her fellow countrymen and more importantly, the man she once called a dear friend, was a person she really didn't know as well as she thought. 

From this moment on, they would have nothing to say to each other. His time as a Kingsguard would come to an end a lot sooner than he knows, but Elia leaves the man to his beliefs. A part of her wonders what he will do for Dorne will not have him. Perhaps Ashara might come to forgive him. A small amount of her can spare a sliver of benevolence now that she and her children live does hope that Ash will welcome him to her home. But then Elia's reminded by the bruising around the man's eye—a gift from Eddard Stark, and then she thinks maybe not. 

"Princess Elia," 

"Ser Arthur, I have come to see Prince Rhaegar."

Elia has noticed that she address Rhaegar as her husband less and less. Prince Rhaegar being the only way she addresses him before any kind of audience. Something shifted in her at the Tower. Who they were forever remade into something that is together, yet apart? 

The knight alerted the Prince of her presence before he opened the door. 

Rhaegar stood when she entered.

"Elia, you've come."

Elia walked in for one reason and one reason alone.

"I am not staying long."

Rhaegar's indigo eyes continued to offer apologies, and Elia could feel her own gaze responding with a resounding decline.

"I see."

"I just needed to say goodbye."

"Are you leaving?" Confusion in his voice and eyes caused Elia to pause. She had spoken those words aloud. 

"In a way. Let's be honest, your Grace, we will never be what we once were."

"Elia, please. I think if you just gave me a chance, I can show you that my feelings for you are true."

A sad smile pulled at her lips. She wet them as she considered how to reply.

"I believe that you believe you speak in truth, but what you need to understand is that I no longer require this type of confirmation. Your words do not assuage any fear I once held in my heart that doubted your affections as genuine."

"What do you mean, Elia?"

The man stepped closer to her. He reached out to grasp her hand. Elia watched as he brought her fingers to her lip. She paused to inventory the moment, her own reaction in particular, and what she found was she felt—nothing.

With a clear gaze, Elia answered her man.

"Plainly stated, I do not care to rekindle what we were. I do not care if you are fond of me. That sounds like an issue, you must reflect on how to resolve for yourself. I find that I have made peace with our marriage being a political union."

"Elia, this way of thinking is not you." 

Ah, my love has returned, Elia thought. She remembered when the words slipped quickly from his lip until Harrenhal. Then the words seemed to find themselves stuck in his throat until Elia seldom heard the phrase.

"Love was never a requirement, but respect would have been nice. There is much we must do if our son is to become King after you. We must ensure that the Crown falls to you, and for that alone, I will be your ally, but beyond that, we owe each nothing."

"This is Oberyn speaking...not you, my love."

"There might be some similarities in thought, but in feelings, no. Oberyn could not make me feel this way towards you. Oberyn had not the power to kill the love I had for you. That power was wielded by one person—you, so might I suggest you accept responsibility for it. If the notion bothers you, then dissent against it privately. I have no wish to hear it."

Rhaegar averted his gaze. Elia could not help but noticed the light in his eyes dimmed just a bit more before he closed his eyes.

"Feel free to let your heart love Lady Lyanna, Prince Rhaegar. Let that _fondness_ bring you warmth during moments of cold loneliness, for that will be the only type of companionship you can rely on as I will not be the one to ever offer you such comfort. Feel free to take a whore when the urge arises, discreetly of course, for I doubt Lord Arryn will allow you within any close distance of his wife."

Horror mixed with disbelief took over Rhaegar's face. 

"You lie. You would never excuse such behavior—especially not how you have reacted to Lyanna."

"Ah, you see, once again, you miss the important points of why I acted as I did. You saw my fate, our fate—our children. I acted to save myself and our children. I act to save their inheritance. That is their legacy...they are your legacy, you fool. I will not lie and say you didn't break my heart. But broken hearts heal. You have no reason to believe me when I tell you, but they do."

"Lia," 

The affectionate diminutive of her name did not move her. It did make Elia notice how both she and Lyanna Stark shared the same moniker—Lia, Lya. The Dornish woman wonder if she would have seen through Rhaegar sooner if Lyanna's name had been remarkably different from Elia's own. Returning to the conversation at hand, Elia brought it to an end. 

"Now there is nothing between us, your Grace. As long as you do not act in a way to take away the life and legacy of me and our children, then you are free—and so am I."

Elia turned away from Rhaegar. She ignored the tremble in his jaw, and the bruised eyes lit with fire. Without any regret or doubt, Princess Elia Martell walked out the door closing the chapter on what was once Rhaegar and Elia.

*****

Evening came faster than Elia had expected. Elia opened her door to find Manfrey leaning against the door frame.

"Princess, I received your request for a private evening meal, but I was with the Lord's settling plans for our journey. Does the invitation still stand?"

His soft eyes and gentle smile made her heart sing a song she had long thought forgotten. 

"Consider any and all invitations I offer you as open for the taking, Ser."

Elia let the words fall. She watched as he entered the room, the slow, deliberate closing of the door, the hard swallow working the muscles in his neck.

Dressed in nothing but a short shift with a sheer orange dressing gown, very little would separate their flesh from touching if either of them willed it. 

By the look in Manfrey's eyes, he was willing. Elia needs contact. She stood before him, resting one hand over his heart as the other drew his face towards hers. 

"Ellie—once we cross this line, I do not think I will be able to go back to what we are. What you are offering will change everything between us?" His voice a dark with a whisper of a promise long-awaited.

Pulling his lips closer to her own, her eyes drift to his lips.

"I know, Manny. I do not offer myself lightly. _Ruwhiun lm tatawaqaf' abadaan ean raghbatik ya Manfrey._ , After all, we have seen how could you doubt it." [4]

_“Laqad kunt daymana lak 'iilaa al'abad ya 'iilia. dayima...” [5]_

_Elia's lips crashed into Manfrey's. The man pulled her flush against him. With one hand sliding down her back, he dragged her closer as they devoured each other's kisses. Elia felt his other hand tug at her neck as his lips began a moist trail over her jaw, where he captured her lobe between his teeth._

_Not one to be so passive when it comes to sex, Elia pushed Manfrey away far enough that she could pull at his outercoat until it dropped to the floor. She pushed up his tunic and ignored the sound of the material tearing. It did not deter her nor him, for he flung the offending article of clothing to the ground. His hands snapped at the belt that kept her gown affixed to her body. The material pooled at her feet. She noticed how the warm night air seemed cooler than the rising flush of her flesh._

_She felt like she was on fire. Aroused was what she was, as was Manfrey. Elia watched in wonder as he revealed more of his sun-kissed toned flesh. Nary a piece of clothing between them, and in a dance, their souls seemed to have remembered they came together once again. Manfrey lifted her by her rear. Her long hair gently swayed against her back as Manfrey's warm fingers splayed across her back. Elia's legs wrapped around his waist; his hardness pressed against her. Elia held his face in her hand as her lips once again captured his mouth._

_Elia was barely aware of Manfrey walking towards her bed until he crawled over it and lowered her onto the bedding. His hair draped over them. The waves made a curtain that shut out the world as his eyes met hers. As his solid body pressed down against hers with an urgency she sought to match. They looked at each other. As Elia looked into his eyes, she saw their story—a tale that was much older than the two bodies intertwined on the bed. Their lips found each other once more, and together she and Manfrey re-enacted a dance as old as time itself._

__

*****

In the early morning, Elia watched Manfrey leave. He turned to look over at her as she stood on the parapet. He sent her one more smile—a gesture to reassure her at all will be well, that he will be well. This did little to warm her heart, but it is what one does for someone they love, which was why Elia offered him a confident wave goodbye. She watched as he urged his horse to catch up with the party that included the Starks and Lord Arryn.

Finding the steel that always seems to reside in her, Elia straightens her back. She proceeds to find Lord Fowler to ensure the preparation for her own journey back to Sunspear. 

The time had come for Elia and her allies to act. It was time for her to take the Iron Throne.

NOTES:  
[1] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“Cease this.”_

[2]Djinn in Arabic folklore is a demon or spirit that resides in the desert.

[3] Si’lat is a type of djinn shapeshifter, they are associated with being female—highly dangerous as I suppose most demons are. 

[4] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“My soul has never stopped wanting you, Manfrey.”_

[5] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“I have always been eternally yours, Elia. Always...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who shared their ideas and song recommendations. You'll never know how much it helped. I was hit with the be writer's paralysis BIG TIME!
> 
> NOTES (for Parts I and II)
> 
> [1] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“Cease this.”_
> 
> [2]Djinn in Arabic folklore is a demon or spirit that resides in the desert.
> 
> [3] Si’lat is a type of djinn shapeshifter, they are associated with being female—highly dangerous as I suppose most demons are. 
> 
> [4] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“My soul has never stopped wanting you, Manfrey.”_
> 
> [5] Roughly translated in Arabic means, _“I have always been eternally yours, Elia. Always...”_


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am just temporarily playing with GRRM's toys.
> 
> There are dark aspects in this chapter, that might border outside of how we would like to view our heroine and the Dornish, but moral ambiguity is at the core of Elia's story. If you love the Dornish, you also know they were some cut-throat MF, and with that true awareness comes acceptance.

The reign of King Aerys Targaryen II concluded with very little resistance. The opposition was coming from the man and his only allies—The Reach and The Crownlands.

Upon Elia's return to Sunspear, she requested the Lords come to Dragonstone for the council meeting that will undoubtedly be called. She ensured them safe passage. The queer expression on the men forced a smile. A gesture that could have meant insincerity, but indeed was not. They just did not know what they did not know, and Elia could not fault them for that.

Before they left, Lords and Princess Rhaelle wished to speak plainly to Rhaegar without reprisal. It was a request Elia would not deny them. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the moment. Rhaegar seated before them, his face unreadable to those who had little experience with the subtleties of emotions that flitted across his face like shadows. There one moment and gone the next. 

They made it clear that they will honor their alliance negotiated by his _true wife_ , but they will no longer idly sit by and watch a mad Targaryen rise once more. If he were to show himself to be as dangerous as his father, then they would take their chances at war between each other—after they disposed of him. Elia was not a fool. She knew the words they spoke were true as they barely survived Rhaegar’s folly this time around. 

The power of the Rhoyne flowed through her, and it took very little for her to access it and use it. Every day she grew more assertive. As Lords Hightower, Tully, and Lannister returned to their homes. Only Lady Rhaelle remained with Lord Baratheon.

Some benefits came from being considered lesser. The realms spent minimal resources in learning about Dorne and the assets it had. Doran called their bannermen 50,000 men and women answered the call, but it was 10,000 that agreed to sail with her to Storm's End and onward to Dragonstone.

To ensure success, which for her went beyond the winner, it meant saving as many lives as she could. This meant she needed the war to happen over water. Those who stood by Aerys would be the only casualties if she had her way. So, the navy the realm didn't know existed revealed itself to the Seven Kingdoms.

Elia's Uncle Lewyn sent word to his friend Seaworth, who smuggled them out of Kings Landing, to get word to Stannis Baraethon on behalf of his brother and grandmother. As twenty-five ships sailed towards Shipbreaker's Bay, Elia could see that the man must have received their message. From her perch on the boat, no man of Storm's End could be seen. The only men of note wore sigils of The Reach.

It was a bit of a blessing that the Storm Lords' castle was equipped to withstand the deluge of the sea. Sadly, for Lord Tyrell and his men, they could not say the same. Elia willed the sea to calm. All the ships remained close to the Isle of Tarth, except for one—hers.

Closing her eyes, Elia could feel the messages the waves of the sea sent as they pounded against the hull of the ship. She placed her hands on top of the wood before her as she sent the sea a message of her own. The sea's swell seemed to change course and is swayed back and forth from the land to her ship. The waves becoming stronger but never passing her vessel, protecting the ships behind her.

She could feel them though, the 10,000 as the sea beckoned their blood as it sang in hers. This power was not hers alone to call. Together they controlled the water below, and together they would skillfully manipulate it above. This was a scene that existed centuries before.

"My Gods, my grandmother spoke true." 

Lady Rhaelle, the only voice to remark on the sight Elia could see behind her closed lids.

Elia sent a wave over the Keep that reached the border Lord Tyrell protected himself from with the flick of her mind. First, the sea tossed the Redwyne ships who answered their liege’s call before it extended its range to the land. The water followed its nature and pulled back to the sea, and with it, thousands upon thousands of men with all their items would need for war were hauled into the sea.

They waited, and in a short time, archers wearing the sigil of the stag rose over the stockades to shoot men who attempted to swim to land.

Death was imminent, and it hurt Elia to be the harbinger of it, but it was a choice—her or them. While she tries to be a good person, she knows no one is this selfless to let the fate she has escaped occur without a fight. She is not a simple or passive woman, no matter what men chose to think. Dornish is what she is and in her blood lives the history of a people who could be ruthless and coldblooded when the occasion called. For her, this moment was now.

This is war, and there is always a wager and a cost.

Opening her eyes, she turned to see both Baratheon's staring at her. An awareness that perhaps wasn't there in the young Storm Lord's eyes before. His head tilted as they shared an understanding.

"Your Grace."

His only words. Your Grace. Yes, she was or soon would be...

The sea calmed, so did the fighting. A small boat made its way to their ship. Elia smiled as she recalled seeing the man in her vision. How long ago that was?

"Davos Seaworth at your service. I have promised your brother that I can steer any ship, large or small, across this bay. Your family and home await."

Elia watched as the Baratheon's sailed towards Storm's End.

Her ship began its journey to Dragonstone, and with her, the other ships followed.

As they made their way up the Narrow Sea, Elia could see the blockade of ships on the Blackwater Bay. She ignored them for now as they continued their way to Dragonstone.

It was on the island that Rhaegar wrote his father to desist or face a humiliating loss. He suggested that perhaps if he relinquishes his Crown willingly, he might be able to avoid death for his acts against Lord Rickard. A lie packaged in hopefulness.

The raven they had received in response had not surprised Elia, and neither did the ships that sailed to attack them.

Elia's fleet them in Blackwater Bay, the sky dark, the rain falling so hard as if to drown them from above the sea.

Once again, she summoned her power to calm the sea under her own ships, sending the waves towards her enemies. Making their attempts at using their canons useless for unstable shots missed their target. Ships turned over or began to sink with the taking of too much water. The sounds of screams amid the salt and smoke drifted from the men in front of her own armada. Elia continues to pray to Mother Rhoyne that none of the sounds would come from the ships behind her—from her people.

Aerys's armies from The Reach and The Crownlands were gone. As promised, her allies to the North, Vale, Riverlands, Westerlands, and Dorne called for the removal of King Aerys. They brought a fraction of their own men to surround Kings Landing, as the Lords themselves sailed to Dragonstone.

When word spread to the smallfolk by way of the Faith, the Faith Militant's resurrection rose in response. Motivated mostly when they learned of the High Septon's call that the King be called to task for his actions against Lord Rickard Stark, the death warrants of his sons, and the siege against Lord Robert Baratheon. The latter had not engaged in any form of treason to the Crown.

Over the course of moons, Elia had watched more than just the lords she aligned with. She watched the King. The horror that gripped her upon discovering the wildfire under the city at the time paralyzed her reasons to act.

Pushing past the fear, Elia slowly began to use the water from the Blackwater to travel under the Red Keep the day the men took over the castle. Aerys sending Rossart to light the vessels that held the wildfire prompted Elia to flood the channels that tunneled under the palace.

In her mind's eye, she could see Ser Jaime as his sword pierced the bellies of Rossart and the sycophants that followed him. As he ran after the last man, a deluge of water knocked the guild master down before the Lannister climbed down the stairs. A delay Elia was grateful for as she did not want the young Lannister to die—she also needed him alive.

The saltwater of the sea rendered the alchemy useless. There was a time she had wondered if using water would help when her visions of a path not taken showed the wildfire alive and well as it burned over the Blackwater. She took a chance to saturate the chemical before it was lit. It was a gamble that paid off; it seemed.

King Aerys was pulled out of his castle by force to stand trial on Dragonstone. He was sequestered for many moons—nearly a year as Elia needed to guarantee that marriages were honored, setting their alliances in stone.

In that time, the perfumed seneschal thought he had escaped, but little did he know that death had his name on its list. A gift of his favorite oils of lavender, lilacs, and rosewater was delivered to him by one of his _little birds_ \--a package he thought came from his favorite merchant. Elia followed Manfrey's words from the Crab King—beware of the little birds.

Leo had been the one to consider using the Essosi's own weapons against him. The coin spent on the shopkeeper's assistant to exchange their oils for Oberyn's had been worth it. As the man sailed back to Essos upon King Aerys capture, Elia witnessed Varys as he took his last breath in a room that smelled like him...sweet and welcoming. The poison did as it was supposed to, and when the men on the ship discovered his body, they tossed him into the sea.

As Varys settled down on the seafloor, plans moved forward in Westeros.

Once all were wedded, except for Lord Tywin's son, King Aerys trial was held. The man called for a Trial by Combat. With no wildfire to serve as his champion, Jonothor Darry answered the call for his King. To stand for the realm was no other than Ser Arthur Dayne. The latter lord cutting to the quick with first blood.

Elia prompted Rhaegar offer, Ser Darry's life or death, for he was bound to Aerys just as Arthur and Oswell were compelled to follow him. Ser Darry was confused by the choice, and in the end, selected to serve at The Wall. What shocked Elia more was Arthur's choice to join him. It was there that Ser Whent declared he would return to his family seat in Harrenhal. The White Bull accepted that the rules for the Kingsguard had changed, but he selected to remain in service, as did Ser Barristan. News that had surprised Elia. While she hadn't hated the man, she would watch him as she would watch them all.

Coronation came before Aerys’s death. 

Elia was crowned Queen. The sun brightened the bluest of sky’s as gentle rain settled over the capital. To some who were disgruntled by the wetness the weather brought, to the Dornish in attendance, it was the finest of days—the sun and the sea, the Dornish and the Rhoynar. That is who she was, and her Gods were here to bear witness to her ascension. A blessing that had come only from their generosity and grace. 

As Elia ignored the man who had been crowned with her, she looked out into the crowd. Her eyes met those of Lords Brandon Stark and Robert Baratheon. At this moment, she noted that they were irrevocably tied to one another, all due to Rhaegar and Lyanna. Slowly her eyes drifted to see the newest bride of Lord Arryn. While many talked of this young woman’s recent behavior behind hands and glasses of wine, protocol’s demanded she had to attend—a truth that both women would have preferred to be false. The only saving grace is she did not stay long as the young woman in question returned back to the Eyrie the day after with her husband's household. 

On the day of Aerys execution, Elia visited the Starks—Lyanna absence noticeable. Still, then the word was Lady Arryn was in the Eyrie already with child...not that she would have been welcomed among her kin. The men stood at attention upon her entrance into their chamber. A young man she had not met before averted his gaze and seemed uncomfortable in her presence. He held the look of a Stark.

"Lord Stark, it is good to see you again."

"The pleasure is shared, your Grace."

"Lord Eddard. I am sad that Ashara could not come, but I understand that it would not be best in her condition. Congratulations, my Lord."

Elia's heart warmed a bit towards the new Lord of Moat Callin, but she thought most of that had to do with her love for his wife, the Lady Ashara. Turning to the last man in the room, Elia smiled.

"I do not believe I have had the pleasure, but by the looks of you, I'd say you must be Benjen Stark."

"Yes, your Grace."

"I thought there must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Elia teased in hopes of lightening the mood before she brought it low again.

"In a way, there is. My wife, Lady Catelyn, carries my heir as we speak." Elia could not imagine Brandon's chest plumping up with pride any more than it naturally does. He is a robust man, she thought.

"There must be something in the air—or the water, I'd say, yesterday Lord Lannister has informed me that his daughter had written to share news of her own pregnancy. Today Lady Lysa just revealed that she too with a babe. The midday meal did not sit well with the child; it seems. Such is a mother's trial. I hear your sister is well on her way to welcoming her first babe."

Elia took note of each man's disposition and found herself oddly pleased that Brandon and Eddard did not flinch at her words. It seems they would need to work on their younger brother.

"Pleasantries aside. I come bearing a gift of sorts. As you know, Aerys is scheduled for execution."

The men nodded.

"As he personally did the most egregious harm to you and your House, the King and I—"

"The King?"

Brandon's tone was most dubious indeed. Elia sent him a smile, one she was sure he understood and one he returned.

"Yes, the King, we would like to extend to you the courtesy that was initially denied when you sought him. If you want it, you are more than welcome to take his head off his neck yourself. Is it not the Stark way?"

The men were silent until one voice responded.

"Yes, your Grace. House Stark will accept the invitation."

In an unprecedented offer for a Lord to behead a dethroned King, that is how that chapter ended. A deranged man with his head secured to a block. A crowd of people who detested him--including his wife. A woman who had to be wheeled to the balcony as she barely survived the birth of her daughter, Daenerys, and Lord Brandon Stark with his House sword Ice.

A tactful warning to her husband.

Elia thought that perhaps a bit of justice had been served.

The time now moved quickly.

*****

Rhaegar had been installed as King.

Elia kept her word to her allies. Even the oaths she sword to herself on behalf of them.

For instance, the tragic death of Lord Tywin days before his son was to return with his new bride to Casterly Rock. After Jamie's marriage to Lady Waynwood's daughter, the young couple had begun a journey to visit all their bannermen in the Westerlands. It was the most bizarre of events, or so the realm was told. It seems the man died in his sleep. The maester spoke of too much fluid in his lungs.

The newly crowned Queen made sure to send her deepest sympathies to the new Lord Lannister. A man who holds none of the baggage his father seemed to carry when it came to the Martells or Dorne. War was ugly, and Elia hopes that the man never learns of her hand in his father's death. Should he discover it, Elia holds to the conviction that her actions were justifiable. She wouldn't fault Jaime for coming for her, so she was motivated for him to never know.

Changes came to the Faith as well since the untimely death of High Septon Maynard. It appears his brethren chose a new High Septon—a Hightower, it seemed. This was welcomed news and a pleasure shared with her in a raven by the newest Lord Paramount of The Reach—Lord Leyton Hightower.

The loss of face for the Tyrells and the loss of lives made the transfer less conflicted than it could be. Word has traveled that the Queen of Thornes rarely leaves her rooms upon her son's death notification. Unlike his father, the Lady of Highgarden has taken to ensure her son and heir leads with an even head. There were discussions of betrothing her young daughter to young Edmure Tully.

The Seven Kingdoms sent their representatives to sit on the small council. In time the men learned who ruled the realm. Rhaegar may have been crowned King and sat at council meetings with her, but it was her words that held weight. To the masses, Rhaegar was a wayward Prince who found his way when the King's mantel fell on his head.

Elia was fine with the lie because the illusion served a higher purpose.

People were fickle of that Elia knew, and she made sure the people loved him, for if they loved him, they would love Aegon by extension--just as they did Rhaegar because the realm loved Queen Rhaella. She is almost positive this is why they forgave his _momentary lapse_ of recklessness with Lyanna. The people were safe, and food was plentiful as production resumed in The Reach and the Westerlands found that most of their land had become fertile enough to sustain the needs beyond their region. 

Healthy competition for The Reach, Elia thought.

Three years have passed since their coronation—four since taking over Kings Landing. Elia felt secure in her place and in the people embedded in her council as well in her alliances. She knew in the event of her husband's premature demise the realm would not accept her as regent, but she knew where true power resided. She held the power and therefore having one man from each of the Seven Kingdom serving an equal term until her son's majority did not frighten her. Each of these men were vetted and ready for the task of helping her raise a King.

The end was nigh...for some.

*****

The smallfolk mourned the death of King Rhaegar Targaryen. A man who died at seas while his Queen had survived. A short journey to visit Lord and Lady Baratheon to welcome their third son. Sadly, the royal ship could not withstand the violent waves of Shipbreaker Bay. Many called it a miracle that only the King and Lord Connington had perished.

As the realm came to see their King off, a memorial for his body was thought to be swallowed by the sea and forever lost to them. Elia observed more pleasure for Rhaegar's departure. Perhaps the only gazes that held some element of mourning, aside from her children, could be seen on the face of his mother, Rhaella.

Perhaps there was a shadow in the eyes that hovered over the dry gray orbs of Lady Lyanna Arryn, a woman she tries not to think too much of. She doesn't know if Lyanna has found happiness, but she has proven to provide House Arryn with healthy stock. A mother she was with two sons and a daughter, the last birth heralding twins—a boy and a girl.

Elia did her duty, and she mourned—in public. Her private moments were riddled with a kind of peace that she should not embrace too tightly, for it can breed complacency. It was this guardedness that told Elia she had to act now. A plan that laid in wait for almost five years.

To keep her homeland and House away from speculation, Elia rarely entertained her countrymen in her home. However, when she did, they came for short visits. The water helped, but it was not the same. It hurt her, but what hurt her the most was the separation from—him.

A year after Rhaegar's death, Elia informed her council that she needed to mourn her husband, if just a bit longer, and decided she would do so in Dorne—in the Water Gardens.

Elia returned with her children to Sunspear. Shortly upon their arrival, with Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria as her companions, she traveled to one of the hottest places in Dorne. The beauty of a massive domed Keep amid the desert made Elia's heartache. Her homeland may not hold the beauty of lush terrain, but there was divine in the diverse landscape of Dorne.

"Welcome to Hellholt, your Grace."

Smiling, she walked to Lord Uller, taking his hand.

"My Lord, the pleasure is all mine."

Her time there was short, for there were only two things she was there to do.

Elia followed the Lord as Oberyn followed her. They descend stairs until they walked below the keep. Twist and turns, Elia thought as the torches against the wall illuminated their path.

They waited for a guard to unlock a series of bolts to an iron-barred door. After walking through the doorway, she found herself in front of a large door made of steel.

"Is this a Valyrian steel, my Lord?"

The man's lips revealed a dark grin. Elia scoffed at the irony.

"Yes, your Grace."

"How fitting?"

"We always thought so, but it seems Rhaenys Targaryen never thought so, and neither does the current occupant."

"I'm sure. If you wouldn't mind."

Elia tilted her head towards the door.

The man commanded his guard to open the door.

It was well lit for a subterranean chamber.

"Elia!"

Rhaegar Targaryen ran towards her, but a chain around his ankle prevented him from touching her. Elia wanted to avert her eyes, if only for a moment when she saw the desperate hope in them. Clearly, he took her presence here as a sign of salvation. His words told her so.

"Elia, thanks to the Gods, you are here. Please help me. Tell them to release me. I have done nothing to warrant this. Please, Elia.

"Oh, but you have Rhaegar. Lord Stark once told me that the North has a saying, _the North remembers_. I think it is a fitting mantra for anyone who has been experienced a massive injustice."

"I do not understand, Elia. Why do you delay in rectifying this? Whatever they thought I had done wrong, then you must correct their misjudgment. Elia, please, you know me."

"Ah, you see, here is where the misjudgment lies. You came to Dorne, albeit many years ago with your woman who was not your wife—not their Princess. You brought her here with the intent to get her with child."

"But that was folly. You showed me the truth about Varys and Bloodraven. I was not solely at fault for that."

"They may have laid the temptation, but the process of making a choice, well that Rhaegar falls only onto you. All Varys and Bloodraven had done was hope. Hope that they placed their markers just so that you would do as they wanted, but in the end, it was you who made the choice Rhaegar."

"I—but,..."

Words were always her husband's strong suit, but they seemed to have left him.

"Haven't I proven myself to be better?"

"I thought you had. You see, I needed to prepare just in case you had not. For a while, I had thought you unarmed and less threatening, but that wasn't true. I am ever grateful I never let my guard down enough to trust you ever again."

"Elia, you are making no sense. What are you talking about?"

"You should have left Aegon alone. I warned you. Father in affection you could be, but any say in his education—no. I told you to never speak of these prophecies—not to him or Rhaenys."

Silence. Elia noticed how he paled, more so than she thought possible. 

"You told him of the prophecy. Then you compounded it by showing him the books you still kept hidden. I will not allow my son to believe in those words the way you did."

"I'm sorry, Elia, but he needs to know."

"Know, perhaps, but to believe it to the determent of the realm, no. This prophecy serves as a cautionary tale. The water will illuminate his way. Not you and not that. Remember, you chose to break your word to me. This was not the doing of little birds, spiders, or bloody ravens. This time the fault for your fortune can be laid solely at your feet."

"This is why I am here?"

"Yes. You are a danger to him, and if you threaten him, then that applies to Rhaenys as well. I will not have it."

"Elia, you can't keep me here. This is insanity."

"Hmmm...it seems you did not pay too much attention to the banner than rode with me to the Tower—Kingsgrave, where Kings go to die, your Grace."

Elia shook her head gloomily. 

"I was not your savior on that day, Rhaegar. I was your reaper, and your time has come."

Panicked words rushed out of his mouth as he walked back to the wall--as if to put as much space between them.

"Do not worry, Rhaegar, I do not come to kill you with my own hands. I will leave you here, and the Lord of Hellholt will see to your imprisonment. He will hold you here for me, just as his ancestor did centuries ago for Princess Meria when Rhaenys Targaryen fell from the sky and onto their land."

"Elia, please do not do this."

"I would be a fool to listen to your plea. Goodbye, Rhaegar."

Turning away, Elia halted her steps at the doorway. She turned her head to look at Rhaegar.

"Oh, and before go, my brother's would like a moment of your time."

Elia stepped out and away, but Oberyn's voice followed her. She needn't see him know that his eyes gleamed with delayed rage.

"King Rhaegar, my Prince and brother have some choice words for you. Sadly, he cannot be here, but it is okay, as we have long known our places. He is the protector of Dorne, and I—I am his spear."

The whine of the door closing sealed the cries Elia was sure to come.

"Now Lord Uller let us see if we can turn your sulfur river into a river of clean water, shall we?"

*****

The journey back to the Water Gardens felt so long, but perhaps it was only because beloved faces awaited her return.

After she spent much time with her family, Elia walked to her pool...their pool.

The night had come. The sun was long gone. Torches lit the courtyard while small candles were illuminated around the pool's edge.

Releasing the ribbons that held up her dress, the garment pooled at her feet, leaving her bare. She sauntered to the steps of the pool and slowly descended. As she stood with the water at her waist, Elia gently ran her fingers across the water. She closed her eyes and thought of him—of Manfrey, and tears sprung to her eyes.

It has been over 4 years since she has seen him, and his absence makes her heart shatter into little pieces.

Her lover went North, farther North than any Dornishman ever dared or dreamed. They kept each other close in dreams and vision—the water being the link that held them together through life kept them apart.

Manfrey fought through elements he had never encountered. Such as beast that never ranged past the wall, free folk, and _other things_ \--like the last mystical beings that resided in Westeros. Though he was surrounded by ice—the frozen water meant their Gods were near for him to draw on. Draw he had as Bloodraven had poisoned the minds of those who protected him.

The battle was bloody, and a few brave Dornish- and Northmen lost their lives. Elia witnessed it all. When Manfrey breached the cave where the architect of her premature demise was embedded into a tree's roots, the milky white of his eye glared at Manfrey, and Elia was sure the man could see her.

He opened his mouth to speak with a snarl of his lip, but nary a word was said. Manfrey delivered a perfectly aimed punch to the man's face and rendering him unconscious. Elia wondered what he would have said. While she knows the man no longer lives, she had left at Manfrey's request, for he did not want her to witness the man's final moments.

Elia's bites her lip as the water gets cooler.

_Her mind enters a memory of being in the cave._

_"Elia, please go, my love. This should not be for your eyes to see."_

_Elia responded in the only way she knew how. She caused water to appear on the dirt wall beside Manfrey. When one walked in reality and the other in vision, water was their way of communicating._

_"Please, Elia. I do not know if I can do this with you watching. I do not want to alter how you see me, and my actions in this cave will."_

_The Dornish Queen understood his fear, but she loved him more than his fear and knew herself better than his doubt. She pushed her confidence in him out into the ether in hopes he would understand her. The water began to fall quickly, and it was warm amidst the cold that surrounded him._

_"Very well, my love." He sighed._

_With his final words said, a child of Nymeria Nymeros sent his spear into the heart of darkness._

_Elia had never turned away even if fate kept them apart._

_The burn of familiar tears pooled under her lids._

_A trembled cry pushed past her defenses._

A pair of muscular arms wrapped themselves around her waist as they pulled her forward. Lips tracing her flesh with a warm-tipped tongue made a trail to that spot behind her ear—an area he discovered on that one night they shared so many years ago. 

Elia turned around in his arms, her eyes found his, and she found her memory and visions had not lied to her. He was safe, sound, and just as loved by her now as he was then. 

Oberyn thought them insane for keeping themselves apart, while Doran saw the wisdom in it. After all that occurred with Rhaegar, if Elia took the Crown, she needed her husband to do so. She required the realm to see she was forgiving and benevolent. The masses will believe what they see and hear. That is true for anyone who lives a public life such as her. 

Elia could not have her name associated with another—she had to appear above reproach. Anyone with eyes would observe how they were more than cousins. They would see love. In honesty, Elia was not sure they would be able to maintain the façade, and THAT would have been all the watchers needed to cast a shadow on her appeal.

This meant that they needed to remain apart until her virtue was no longer tied to her children's inheritance. The time had come earlier than Elia had expected courtesy of Rhaegar's hubris. All these years, they met in the void and traveled all across the realm as the water of the Rhoyne flowed through the soil of the land, making it rich and fertile as their Gods traversed the continent. 

Until now... 

Manfrey pulled Elia in, and his lips on hers ignited a fire she thought only resurfaced in dreams and apparitions. Hands reached, gripped, and caressed as they applied their knowledge from the theoretical to reality. Teeth bit, tongues battled, all in a war to reclaim each other again. 

Elia had decided she did her duty and secured her legacy. Manfrey would be hers as lover or husband. That choice was theirs to make. 

*****

It appears the Gods decided Elia was not as much a mistress of her fate as she thought. Marriage was to be for three years after her husband's _death_ , Elia found herself with child. As the continent became prolific in its crop and animal production, it seems the consequence for Elia's dispersion of the Rhoynish Gods across the land meant her own fertility was magnified.

Her advisors were not happy to hear it, but there was little they could do and still endure the ramifications. Elia was not the only one with the gift of sight. To harm her or her kin meant that the villain would have to blind Dorne and the only way to do so would be to kill all the Dornish with Rhoynar blood. A task they do not know they would have to do. Elia is no longer the only one constantly seeing, watching, noting. 

It was with a warm heart that Elia married Manfrey. Still, it was with a warmer one that she birthed their son—Davos Martell, a name that once served Princess Nymeria in the past and a name that helped save them in the present when they need it so.

As Elia kissed the top of her son's head, she watched as her husband walked the beach with Aegon at 8, riding his broad shoulders, and her Rhaenys at 10 skipping beside them. They talk adamantly about their success with making small puddles of water rise from the stone floor in Elia's solar. It warmed and scared Elia to know her children demonstrated an affinity for water magic.

As her babe began to burrow further into Elia's arms, she looked down at him once more and marveled at how he came to be. The sound of laughter from the man she loved and their children who held her heart captive in their hands had Elia release a breathless laugh of her own.

Looking towards the sea, she found herself looking forward to the upcoming visit of Oberyn and his family—as well as Leo's as they celebrate survival, life, love, and family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the Targaryen King...
> 
> Rhaegar/Rhaenys were royal dragons who:
> 
> \- came to Dorne like they were invited,  
> \- then they dictated how it was going to be, and both  
> \- fell from great heights and found themselves in Hellholt  
> \- while the ruling Prince/Princess of Dorne basically acted like they didn't know
> 
> The parallels are real! 😳
> 
> We are one short epilogue away from the end.


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. GRRM does and I am playing in his dollhouse. 
> 
> Here we go...
> 
> EDIT: Slight continuity error on my end regarding Ned and Ashara's son Jon. It wasn't he who joined the Night's Watch. Thank you to CmdrAdama for seeking clarification. Sheesh, that was a big boo boo. Someone does visit from the Night's Watch though. It's just not Jon.
> 
> EDIT Pt. 2: Clearly I didn't read this chapter as well as I thought. Hopefully, I've cleared up all the inconsistencies. My apologies :O

Epilogue

_Dorne/Martells_

Doran and Mellario stay together. They struggle, but since Quentyn was not sent to foster, they weathered the storm. In canon, that is really what broke them.

To make amends to House Yronwood for Oberyn's actions, a marriage alliance would be made. Quentyn marries Gwyneth Yronwood.

Oberyn, much to Elia's adamant brow-beating, offered his daughters the option to become legitimized. She told her brother that a man such as himself who prides himself on freeing his daughters from the expectation of a station was merely doing what every other man does—he chose for his daughters. What he saw as freedom and choice was naught, for he was the sole proprietor of the decisions. 

If he were just an ordinary man, it might not matter so much, but he was a Prince of Dorne. He had more authority than most. If he genuinely wanted his daughters to be free, then he had to ask them what it was they wanted. Much to his surprise, all of his daughters accepted the offer, but they made it clear they were to be treated as Sand Snakes—a compromise that seemed to bring him joy.

Leo marries a Gargalen cousin and has many children. It almost seemed like he was in a race against Oberyn to see who would sire the most children.

Prince Lewyn Martell remained a Kingsguard for 10 more years before choosing to leave the service now that the realm was stable. Lemore simply vanished from the Faith, not a surprising feat considering who the High Septon was.

A letter from Baelor to Elia asked her to please tell his sister that he wished her happiness and peace. Together Lewyn and Lemore lived and watched over the children in the Water Gardens. That was where they resided happily for the rest of their days.

Due to Rhaegar's actions and Aerys's well-traveled ravens, the realm knew what occurred between Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. It was the most scandalous unspoken secret in all of Westeros.

Luckily for Elia and the Martells, a secretly held clause that only applied to marriages between the Crown and the Dornish was unearth by the newly elected High Septon. The father of Princess Myriah would only agree to the marriage; if at any time such a union was not honored in good faith, then the region would return to its legitimate independence.

Elia used her humiliation to set her homeland free.

_Targaryens_

Viserys Targaryen married the granddaughter and heir of Lord Ardrian Celtigar. At the wedding, the couple (as did the guest) received the pronouncement by young King Aegon VI that the Crowlands would officially be considered the Seventh kingdom in his realm. Prince Viserys Targaryen would serve as Lord Paramount.

A good Lord and Paramount he was. Much to his chagrin, he earned the monikers _the Crab Prince or the Crab King_ amongst his bannerman. Titles that would make Elia and Manfrey smile.

Daenerys married Cletus Yronwood.

Rhaella never married again, but she became reacquainted with Bonifer Hasty, who, to the public eye, served as the Dowager Queen's protection. In truth, he became her companion for the rest of their days. They lived on Dragonstone, where she raised her children until she died at the ripe old age of 80.

_Starks_

The Starks led a strong North with Lord Brandon Stark at the head. His brother Lords Eddard and Benjen—the youngest taking over the Dreadfort after an unsuccessful coup by Lord Roose Bolton.

Brandon and Catelyn had 2 sons and 1 daughter. The girl a beauty who carried the look of her mother and held the eye of her eldest cousin, Jon.

Eddard and Ashara had 3 sons and 2 daughters. Their heir was name Jon in honor of Eddard's foster-father and good-brother. On occasion, with business for the Lord Commander, Arthur Dayne would visit Moat Callin. He rose high in the Night's Watch ranks, becoming the 998th Lord Commander upon the death of Jeor Mormont.

Benjen married a Manderly, and together they had 2 sons and 2 daughters.

The North was given funds for Lyanna's dowry and money to build Moat Calin for Ned. They took back ownership of New Gift, which the Night's Watch could not maintain. For 15 years, the Gift's profit goes to Winterfell, but after that half, the income goes to the Night's Watch, which more than they get now. Rhaegar never sets foot in the North. The Crown pays the Starks with the sand they needed to build the glasshouses the North requires.

Lord Brandon Stark served as one of Elia's closest confidants as the years passed. Their favorite topics—family, duty, and the Gods. When she left her daughter in Winterfell as the new wife to his heir, it was not with fear, for she knew Brandon would protect Rhaenys and the secret of her gift.

_Baratheons_

The Lord and Lady of Storm's End seemed to have a warm marriage. Save for Mya, Robert did not have any other illegitimate children. As for Lysa, she seemed to find herself caring less about Petyr Baelish and more focused on her handsome husband and her new role as the lady of Storm's End—especially with Princess Rhaelle about.

Sadly, the body of Lord Baelish washed up upon the shores one day. Seems Shipbreaker's Bay struck again. Robert had been visiting Mya in Kings Landing when he received the news. Elia reminded him that perhaps Dornish luck was once again on his side. He reminded her that he doubted he had enough to warrant any blessings from the gods—Rhoynish or otherwise. The Dornish Queen reminded him that he carried turtles in his blood through his mother, and such a symbol was of the highest esteem in the eyes of Mother Rhoyne. Their laughter could be heard about the Red Keep. They were drastically different...a woman so well-versed in courtesy and a brutish lord of the kingdom. Still, Robert remained an ever-faithful friend to Elia.

Lord Robert and Lady Lysa had 4 sons. The eldest named Stannis after the uncle who held the Keep while under siege. As they had no daughters, Mya, who was legitimized shortly after Robert and Lysa wed, was betrothed to the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. Like her great-grandmother, Mya was fostered with her future good-mother and was raised by Elia.

The decision to foster was made out of respect for Lysa and House Tully. Lady Baratheon learned very quickly that her husband loved his daughter, and he would not abandon her. In the end, Lady Mya was very close to her brothers—one serving as a Kingsguard. She even had a cordial relationship with her father's wife.

It seemed in the end that Lord Robert Baratheon's path was salvageable....redeemable. When he died his wife was inconsolable, as was the King --for the Storm Lord was one of his favorite Regents... and of course, his Queen. Elia had noticed a very remarkable difference in how Lysa mourned her husband versus Lyanna who had buried her spouse decades before. She had wondered as they stood in the sept for Lord Baratheon's burial rites if Lyanna was envious of the marriage the Baratheons were able to build. 

When the time came to foster Aegon, Elia kept her word and offered to send her son to Robert, but the man requested she sent Aegon to Ned—he being the best man Robert knew. It was that man he wanted to shape the young man who would wed his daughter.

Since Stannis never had the opportunity to leave Storm's End, Robert sent him to Court to represent the Stormlands on the small council. It was there that he met his future wife, a lovely young woman from House Rowan of The Reach. Lord Mathis Rowan's heir and a lighthearted woman who had a thick skin and the enormous fortitude to make her husband laugh.

Renly's marriage connected the Baratheon's to royalty once again as his marriage to Princess Arianne Martell made him Prince Consort. A healthy marriage they had, though it was a well-known secret that they had an open marriage.

_Arryns_

Lyanna Stark, for all purposes, seemed to live her life in the Vale with relative quiet. She had a total of 4 children. Her husband, Jon Arryn, died in his sleep after 12 years of marriage. Lord Arryn left his heirs a Regent in Lord Yohn Royce—a loyal bannerman and distant kin of the Starks. Lyanna remained in the Eyrie but never remarried.

The people of the Vale tolerated her at best. The relationship was never as warm or devout as it had been for her husband and their children. The relationship between the North and the Vale made her seem more _socially acceptable_. She remained an avid hunter and horsewoman. In her senior years, she was said one could find her wearing leathers and riding horses with her kin through the valley.

Lyanna never returned to the North but saw her family when they were called to the Crown's capital though the reunions were never warm.

_Lannisters_

Jaime's ruled the Westerlands better than anyone had given him credit for. His wife was a powerful player in the Westerlands. That wasn't surprising when she was raised by a woman who heads her own House.

No Lannister ever discovered the Martell's hand in Lord Tywin's death.

_The Reach/Hightowers_

The Hightowers retained their power, and Olenna never forgave them. She tried to rule Highgarden until Leyton "encouraged" Lord Redwyne to get his good mother and take her "home."

Willas married his cousin by his Uncle Baelor and Cersei—a young woman named Joanna who looked less like a Lannister and more like a Hightower.

_Tullys_

Hoster died a happy man, with his House directly tied to the North, Stormlands, and The Reach. He considered how they were indirectly linked, the North to the Vale and Dorne through marriage. Still, more importantly, his grandchildren were tied to the Crown.

Princess Rhaenys and Rickard Stark

Lysa's sons to Maya Baratheon and her husband, the King of the Seven Kingdoms

In the end, as the man laid in his bed ready for the Strangers kiss, he congratulated himself on playing the _game_ better than anyone.

_Elia and Manfrey_

Elia and Manfrey were married for 40 years. 

They had three children together: two sons and one daughter. The eldest, Davos, serving as his half-brother Aegon's Master of Whisperers, while their youngest Adryan became the steward of Sunspear during his cousin Arianne's reign. Their daughter, Nysara, married the heir of House Hightower. All five of Elia's children had the gift of water magic. Still, Rhaenys, Davos, and Nysara showed the most remarkable abilities.

Eventually, Rhaenys and Aegon learned of their original fate—and that of Rhaegar. There was much distance between them and their mother for a time, but time heals, and ultimately, they had reconciled both the choices their parents had made.

Rhaenys grew into a fine woman free from the shackles of her namesake. Aegon surpassed even Elia's expectation—both as a man and as a King. Though his name is Targaryen, and he was foster in the North, let there be no mistake a Dornishman sat on the throne—practical, yet quietly ruthless when necessary.

Both Elia and Manfrey taught all their children, natural and chosen, the importance of family and their responsibility to the stations they were born in. The children were close even though they found themselves living in different parts of the kingdom as they grew older. Over the years, their family grew as grandchildren were born.

When the time came, and the Stranger placed a kiss on their lips, their children mourned them. Elia and Manfrey passed away days apart from each other.

It is said that to this day if you go to the Water Gardens, there is a pool that is seldom used.

Rumors has it that there have been only a few couples-- in over two thousand years, who have been able to withstand the cold water that never strays from the center of the pool. 

But the Martell's of Dorne know the legend. If a couple should emerge that can endure the icy depths, then it is known that the Mother Rhoyne and the Old Man of the River have returned—and another race for survival has begun.

__

~Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read the story. I just realized I began writing this fic in the middle of August--AUGUST!!!!
> 
> I really have to thank all the commenters, especially the regulars because there were times I wasn't sure if I should continue or how to move forward. Please know that your comments, recommendations, and suggestions helped to keep me going. 
> 
> A few special mentions though...
> 
> @Becky_Blue_Eyes, it was your works that inspired me to write this story. I hope my use of water magic did you justice.
> 
> @ lostchildofthenewworld, you are the most. I hope you know that. In my mind's eye, I could see your Tumblr gifs and your digital voice whispering in my ear. 
> 
> So to all my Elia/Dorne-stans out there, until next time remember to stay...
> 
> _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."_
> 
> ~winter :D 


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